Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run
by Amorisa
Summary: The fade to black was merely the blink of an eye; respite for seconds only. After all, the road is long.
1. After the Black

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

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_Most stories begin with 'once upon a time', but the beginning had long since faded away from them. Distance from the start of their journey, however, did not create an end. No one could ever be as lucky. _

_The fade to black was merely the blink of an eye. Respite, perhaps, for seconds only._

_After all, the road is long._

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**Chapter One: After the Black**

Eight months after the double eclipse, the Cain homestead on the banks of the sluggish creek looked a different place. One would never know to see the house and barn, so new against the bluest eastern sky, that their feet were resting on ground that had once been the field of unspeakable heartbreak and torture. Not that the house saw many visitors, as far off the road as it was. In the past eight annuals, only three souls had set foot on the property since the day the blood had been spilled and the door had been closed – and sealed tight – on he who had been made to suffer the events that had taken place there.

After his release, he'd walked away from the ruined cabin, content to let nature claim it and bring it down to the ground.

He'd meant to never return.

The next seven days had changed his mind. When finally he'd been freed of his charge, and the world had come to remember the Light, and his feet had slowed and his gun-arm relaxed, he'd realized there was no place in the world for him but where he'd started.

He had no desire for titles or positions or land, all of which had been offered to him in abundance. Wyatt Cain refused everything – _everything_, even what DG had – no, there was no use dwelling on that.

There was recompense to be made, though he didn't know where to begin or even if he understood the depth to which his guilt ran in his mind. He had not yet earned his forgiveness. That, at least, he and the kid had in common. Maybe the only thing. Well, that and an inane attraction to that which could hurt them the most.

Almost two months, he'd stayed with her, with all of them, despite his ever-mounting urges to leave. He hadn't intended for the time to stretch on for so long. As the hours after the double eclipse had brought on sunsdown, and then sunsrise, and nothing around him had crashed headlong into chaos or destruction, it was in his mind to make his leave and join his son at the Resistance camp. That wasn't the way things went for him, things _never_ seemed to go the way he'd planned.

DG and Glitch, they'd needed him to stay. Through the move from the Tower to the abandoned palace in Central City, through every day that passed after the double eclipse for weeks, DG had insisted that they stay together. She wasn't ready, she'd said, and out of worry and a weak will, he'd _stayed_. Cain had thought after the Furball had made his discreet exit to return to the sanctum of his own people, he'd have been able to make his escape as well.

Two full weeks of doubt and deliberation had finally made his decision for him.

Glitch, settled and distracted over hope of reconnecting permanently with his dismembered grey matter, had given his blessing – though Cain had never asked for it and didn't require it – with no more than a grin, and a hand-wave. Confident, in his own way, that Cain would never wander too far or for too long.

DG, well... wasn't something he liked to think back on. Most times, thinking back to her and the goodbye he'd forced through his lips had him wondering if he'd made the right decision after all. Not that wondering about it ever did him any good. He knew he'd destroyed what it had been with the finality of the door he'd closed behind him.

It couldn't have – never mind.

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The cabin couldn't stay standing, not if he was to stay there. The land had been his daddy's, an old hunting shack where his old man would go to hide from his wife, and drink to his heart's content. This latter weakness is where Cain started. Two days after arriving, drunk, angry, and disillusioned, he'd taken his hurt out on the overgrown remains of the barn. In the clear light of morning, with a pounding headache to accompany his gnawing conscience, he'd determined to finish what he'd started. With what tools and equipment hadn't been ransacked by the Longcoats, Wyatt had finished demolishing the barn, and then turned to the cabin.

In the empty dooryard, he'd amassed the broken pieces and burned it all. For two weeks after the bonfires, the scent of smoke and ash had still lingered around the place.

The iron suit, he'd dropped into the creek after dragging it for miles through the marsh. It was heavy enough that there was no need to weight it with rocks; had he been able to, he would have filled the damn thing with stones anyway, to haul from the shell of his former home to the tin box's final resting place three miles upstream. Extra punishment for the guilt that would not subside.

Adora had wanted to leave the cabin behind, she had told him – screamed at him, begged with him – that she felt safer on the move, but he'd felt safe enough, and that had been that.

_Safe enough._

About a week after leaving DG behind in Central City, after much more self-inflicted torture and tears, he'd come to the realization that he couldn't leave things the way they were. It wasn't right to the memory of his wife, or his father, though the old man had been long dead when the Sorceress had taken over.

The land needed a fresh start; a day's ride away by road, in Central City, the Gales were doing what they could – all they could – to mend the hurt of the people they had failed to protect. It was obvious everywhere that the very land on which the country was built needed to heal, and he knew, without question, that DG and her mother – and hopefully one day, Azkadellia – were up to this tremendous challenge.

It wasn't much, but he could take care of this secluded patch of land. It wouldn't make things right, but it was a start. It was also a good way to keep his mind busy and his hands occupied enough to stop himself from going outright insane from the nothingness of the exile he'd chosen for himself.

That had been almost six months ago. Now, after working himself into an exhausted stupor every night, the house was nearing completion. The barn was another story, but at least it had a roof on it. Through incapacitating heat, driving rain, and snow drifts that had reached the windows, Cain had worked steadily on the house. With his own two hands – and more and more frequently, with the help of his son – he'd cleared the land, dug the foundation, laid the floor and raised the framework.

Jeb had finally come to see him when he was raising the trusses, just when the weather had started turning cold. It was the first time his son had returned to the property since being dragged from it with his mother eight annuals before. Silently, his son had spent a long time staring at the bare bones of the house, and then he'd climbed the ladder to help his father start tying the trusses down to the frame.

Jeb came a lot more after that, but he remained the only visitor. Not that Cain minded a single bit; it wasn't exactly solitude if people kept barging in on him. His son's face was just about the only one he ever thought he would welcome. If there was another, Cain knew better than to expect her to show up on his doorstep.

In the end, much later on, he'd kick himself – and hard – for ever thinking he knew what to expect.

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The only one of the old structures that still remained was the dock, and it was here that Cain stood every morning, whether he was awake before the suns or not. This morning he had been, and he listened to the muddy creek water lap gently against the posts beneath his feet as the sky lightened. Finally, the first sun broke over the marshes, and the trees beyond.

As it grew brighter around him, it crossed his mind to get to work shingling the barn before it was too hot to be out in the suns. Not just yet, though; he stayed anchored to the planks beneath his feet as his mind absorbed the natural quiet around him. The birds were kicking their incessant morning songs up a notch, and would be in full force before the hour was out. Spring was gradually fading into summer, the weak growth and pale greens like the promise of a fresh start. He never passed up a day to stand alone listening as the world awoke, even if some mornings a few minutes was all he could afford.

In the suit, he'd heard nothing but the ticking of the contraption that kept him alive, and the faint screams that resonated day and night outside his prison. He'd been spared the repeated frantic pleading of his wife and sporadic shouts from his son, but he'd remembered them with a clarity that did not keep him from torment.

Torment, he knew it to be real. A pain felt so palpably that it never ceased its bearing on him. An entity of its own, one that would never release him from its grip, even were he deserving.

Sighing heavily, Cain looked down into the lazily churning creek. Had it been to this very spot that he'd wandered like a lurching undead, dazed and disbelieving after DG and Glitch had released him from the suit. He vaguely remembered walking straight off the dock into the water, fully-clothed, letting the grime and tarnish wash away. Skin always cleansed much easier than the soul.

Memories followed his every step here; he wouldn't have had it any other way, despite the daily pain and punishment he inflicted on himself simply by remaining. Not all were bad, but all were wrenching in their own way. Haunted by it, he was; the annual following the Last Stand that had almost claimed the lives of his family, the Longcoats that had taken his life from him, and the two saviours whose stumbling through the woods had inadvertently given it back to him.

It never changed. It always started with what had been torn away from him, and always returned to what he'd walked away from. Better not to –

As he looked up at the sky, Cain's attention was drawn to the quiet drone that was quite out of place in his morning. Turning his head slowly, he looked back toward the road that led away from the homestead and into the trees. Sure enough, as the sound grew louder, it was easy to discern the beating of hooves, riding hard and fast toward him.

Jeb wasn't due, he was posted in the south, and there was nothing in this world or the next that would send his son hurrying that much.

Frowning now, Cain left the dock and walked up the short slope that ran up to the dooryard. Just as he came to the center of his yard, he saw the rider break out of the trees, By the time he'd reached the busted gate, he'd barely slowed; he reined his mount to a skittering halt, dropped out of his saddle, and ran toward Cain.

"Offer you some coffee?" Cain said by way of a greeting.

"No time, thank you, sir," the young rider said breathlessly. The crest of the royal family was emblazoned in green on his grey uniform, displayed prominently over his heart, two roads diverging from a central circle. "Are you Mr. Cain, sir?"

"Yeah." Cain nodded, and found an envelope being crushed into his hand. He stared down at it, not needing to see word or seal with his own eyes to know where it had come from. "You waiting on my reply?"

The young man shook his head before giving a small, respectful bow of his chin. "No, I think you'll be wanting to reply in person, sir. Good luck, sir." He turned on his heel and headed back to his mount. He gave Cain another nod before he was kicking up dust and heading back the way he'd come, leaving Cain behind to chew over what had just happened.

With another wary glance down at the envelope, Cain turned and went into the house, letting the screen door slam shut behind him. Though the messenger had said nothing to indicate things were anything but fine in Central City, he'd been agitated and nervous. Which, to Cain, meant he'd known something was amiss, even if he weren't privy to the information directly.

By the time he'd broken the seal on the envelope and pulled the single sheet of paper out, he had a headache budding in his temples. He sat down hard on the nearest chair as he read the short note, and when he'd finished, he crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it into the stove. He didn't need to read it again to know what had to be done.

He stood, and looked around the small kitchen of the small house. Through a door he'd hung not two weeks before was his bedroom, where his meagre belongings rested in a set of drawers he'd fitted during his long winter. It wouldn't take him more than fifteen minutes to gather his things. He could be ready within the hour.

Even though nothing had explicitly signalled reason to worry, he knew well enough that his friends would not ask for his help unless they were already in deep. Proud fools, just like himself.

Growling, Cain shook his head, and went about closing up the house. It was almost a full-day's ride to Central City, and he knew, as much as it tore him up inside, that he needed to hit the bricks.

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_Author's Note: Feedback is always appreciated. To quote Rachel Berry: "I need applause to live!"  
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	2. Among the Spires

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

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_When Last We Met: Eight months after the Double Eclipse, Cain is recalled to Central City from his self-imposed exile, less than thrilled at the prospect of what awaits him when he arrives at the Central Palace._

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**Chapter Two: Among the Spires**

The glass-domed roof of the tallest spire of the city drew the eye from afar, twinkling promises at travellers as they approached the legendary city gates. Cain himself eyed it with a dread that grew heavier the closer he got, all the while knowing his destination lay beneath that pretty glass peak.

Central City had always instilled a certain amount of loathing in him. After the Last Stand, he'd left without looking back, knowing that he would never again see the city in its glory. Nine annuals later, the sentiment had been actualized; the markets had been closed, the windows of the shops dirty and lifeless. There had seemed to be no barriers between the rowdier districts and the places where decent people dwelt. Hell, he honestly could have questioned if there had been one decent soul left within the walls of whole Gods-forsaken city.

During the first hellish week out of the suit, when he'd stepped out of DeMilo's house-of-sin-on-wheels and slammed the door closed on those who had saved him, his first unencumbered glance around Central City had unsettled him to the point of keeping his eyes on the pavement for most of his journey through the streets. He'd left the kid behind in a place he barely recognized and would never trust, not even with his memory of what the city had once been. Of course, all this before finding out the truth of who she was, back when he could still pretend without batting an eye that he no longer had a heart to listen to.

Now, eight months into the regency of Lady Lavender, things were changing, at least on the surface. The House of Gale's banner hung from every street-lamp, the brilliance of emerald green leading the way through the streets to the Central palace at the very heart of the city. He'd stabled his horse outside the walls, away from the noise and pollution, and had entered on foot. As he walked unheeded among the pedestrians, he noticed that there seemed to be more people, more cars. Central was livelier, busier; one semblance or another of the life that had once been.

It was close to eleven when he made it to the gates of the palace. Another pair of nervous glances met him as the guards just waved him through. The fact that he wasn't stopped tugged once again at the suspicion that was coming closer and closer to being his main concern. He refused, however, to let his mind wander to assumptions. He could imagine the worst without an ounce of effort, and it wouldn't help as he headed into whatever waited for him.

It didn't much improve his mood to see Glitch pacing the large entryway of the family entrance. As soon as the guards flanking the door had opened them wide for him, Cain's eyes honed in on the gangly body who was swiftly – and quite effectively – ploughing a furrow into the carpet with the endless back-and-forth of his shiny black shoes.

"What the hell cause did you have to call me all the way out here, Zipperhead?" he asked the moment his feet had crossed the threshold into the hall.

Though Glitch's body jumped, his eyes went straight to Cain and stayed anchored. The tension seemed to go out of his body and he was limp and exhausted – and relieved. Cain gave him a steady once-over glance, eyes sweeping from the fine leather shoes straight up to the bowler hat set at an angle on top of his head. Meant to hide the scar, vanity showing through with the return of old habits.

"You're late," Glitch said, retaliation sharpening his tongue, though his eyes and weak smile stayed friendly.

Cain smirked. "No, I ain't. Made it just in time, by the looks of things," he said. "If you'd wanted me sooner, you woulda sent for me sooner."

"Yes, well – " Glitch seemed on the cusp of saying something, but instead just shook his head, and clapped Cain on the shoulder. Cain's smirk turned into a slow half-smile that lasted only a moment before he felt the tremble of Glitch's hand. "I've been wondering this whole time if you'd turn up at all."

"Which brings us back to you telling me why you dragged me into the city."

"Kicking and screaming, I notice," Glitch said, rolling his eyes.

When Cain didn't reply, Glitch took that as his cue to lead the wordless way through a number of corridors and across many a grand space. One incredibly long and uncomfortably quiet elevator ride later, they were forty stories up and passing through another maze of finely decorated halls until a set of double-doors with heavy brass handles opened into a dark conference room.

_Straight to business, then, _Cain thought, frowning.

By the time Glitch had sealed them in, Cain was halfway down to the far-side, thumbs hooked into his belt as he walked slowly, attention caught by the mural that ran the entire perimeter of the room. It seemed a scene from a fairytale; a road of gleaming yellow brick wound a lazy path over hills and meadows, every colour bright, every inch fantasy and exaggeration. From a village of tiny houses and spans of white daisies, through patchwork fields and dark forests to a glittering city with towers of clear-cut emerald, so faceted and brilliant that it could have been blinding.

Glitch cleared his throat, thinking Cain had wandered off in thought. Nothing could be further from the truth. "So, how've you been, Cain?"

"Haven't had a reason to complain."

"Why with your attitude do I find that hard to believe? Isolation isn't good for you, you know," Glitch observed. "Makes you crotchety. Well, at least it's doing wonders for your health. You look a lot better than you did when you left."

Cain let the odd comment roll off his back. "This isn't about you checking after me; it wasn't exactly a care package you sent. So are you planning on making your point or am I gonna have to start asking questions?"

"I've been fine, thank you for asking," Glitch huffed, but seemed just as willing as Cain to let things slide. "I know that tone, you know; you think the reason I brought you here has something to do with DG." Cain paused his ambling steps long enough for Glitch to know he was right. "That's not the reason – well, not directly. It's Lady Lavender; her health is, um..." He tried to make light of it all, ever searching for the bright side, but all he managed was to look all sorts of uncertain. "Ain't what it used to be," he finished lamely.

Cain raised an eyebrow, watching as Glitch's eyes skipped away from his, as if he were afraid of the Tin Man reading something from deep within him.

"How bad are we talkin'?" Cain asked.

Glitch shrugged. "They've finally confined her to bed over their concerns, though they can't exactly explain what those are. No one knows how bad it is until they can figure out what's wrong with her, and they're coming up empty-handed on that." he said. "But we passed 'not good' quite a while ago."

With a snort, Cain turned away from Glitch. He walked to the windows, and pulled back the curtains to look out at the city. Surrounded by towers, there wasn't much of a view, unless a person liked brick and iron and darkness; he'd had enough of that for a lifetime. His reflection in the glass showed a man who seemed unaffected; he certainly didn't feel that way.

"How long," he asked.

"She is a rare and delicate flower," Glitch sighed, "growing fainter in the eternal darkness. Such a shame, it really isn't fair. _Really_ isn't fair." The emphasis was intentional, no blip of the brain-stem. "She is the Lightless, don't you see?"

Cain paused, biting back an impatient remark. No, he didn't see. "I don't know if you've looked outside recently, Zipperhead, but there is no eternal darkness. The suns have come back out. Every day since that eclipse. That's why we won the damn war, remember?"

"Of course I remember," Glitch said indignantly. "It's everyone else who also remembers the war that we're worried about."

Immediately, Cain was on guard. "And that means what?"

Glitch seemed hesitant to continue, though it took little more than a steely gaze from under brim to jump-start his motor-mouth into running again. "We... well, they... honestly, I don't know –"

"Spit it out." The by-the-thread grip Cain held on his temper was fraying.

"You know Lavender is only standing in as regent! It's been less than an annual, Cain; if she steps aside because of failing health or – or –" Glitch stopped again.

Cain closed his eyes, his chin dropping until it almost touched his chest. Patience, he had it in abundance. _One, two, th–_

"Everything that has been done for the country since the eclipse has been done under the assumption that she would safeguard the kingdom as regent, and remain so for many annuals," Glitch said. Then, he whispered almost inaudibly, "_Many, many, many annuals..._" Signalling now that they were in for the long haul, Glitch pulled out a chair and sat down hard. He then kicked off his shoes, and put his stockinged feet on the long, polished table. "The kingdom is still wholly Azkadellia's. Let me tell you, the reaction to her presence hasn't been favourable since she's been filling in the duties for her mother who is supposed to be filling in the duties for _her._"

Cain did not lift his head while Glitch spoke, instead returning his eyes to the jewelled city night beyond the windows. A thousand windows lit up tens-of-thousands of lives, people who celebrated their queen no matter her official title and still did not trust – or forgive – the disgraced daughter who had selfishly torn their land asunder. The events of the tower were still generally unaccepted by the populace, he'd heard the doubts with his own ears. Hell, the first time DG had explained to him in a breathless rush what had happened atop the tower, he'd been hard pressed to believe it himself. From the very first hours after the eclipse, walking among the tents of the Resistance camp, anger lurked loudly among the fires, fear much quieter, and pity even more so. As the months had passed, these voices hadn't silenced.

Azkadellia's redemption had been – and continued to be – accepted only because of Lavender's faith and assurance; the fact that Azkadellia still lived was solely the doing of Lavender – and DG. If Lavender – Gods above and below forbid – if she passed, and the kingdom was again placed in Azkadellia's hands, it wouldn't be long before those angry voices that muttered among like in secluded places grew louder, more insistent, and dangerous.

"Where is DG in all of this?" Cain finally asked, forcing the words past his dry lips. He looked up to find Glitch staring straight at him, an uncommonly knowing look on his face.

"With her mother, mostly," Glitch said, leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling. The precariously perched bowler toppled to the floor, and he made no move to retrieve it, made no indication he'd even noticed. "She's worked almost as hard as her mother did – _does,_ but she hasn't left her mother's side since she took to bed. More than one of the councillors," and here he made a distasteful face, "has suggested having DG fill in for Lavender's public duties, to keep up appearances. Shifting the focus and approval to DG is the last thing we want."

Cain said nothing; he didn't imagine it was something DG would leap at the chance to do. Though, in the end, she would do it without complaint, there was no questioning that.

Glitch continued through Cain's frown. "The, um, regent and her husband are quite adamant that Azkadellia be there to guide the way through this. It will help." His own belief in this very statement was evident even without the affirming nod that followed. "It was the plan all along, you know. To restore faith, get people happy again, and to have Azkadellia redeem herself in the eyes of all that watch her. But instead, you know..." He put up his fists and popped out his fingers. "Poof. Outta nowhere."

"Is Azkadellia in any shape to be stepping up?"

Glitch nodded again; he let his feet fall from the table, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. As he bowed his head, Cain realized that the scar of Glitch's trauma could not be seen now, but for the tiny jagged line that peaked out of his hairline. The rest was hidden by his closely-shorn dark hair. "Azkadellia is ready to stand up and let people hate her. She's ready to prove she can – well, I don't know what she thinks she can do. Honestly, it's close to suicide. The best team of Tin Men in the whole of the Zone couldn't protect her from _all_ who think she should still be punished for what happened. Not to mention any fugitive Longcoat with a grudge, and trust me, there's plenty."

Cain's jaw tightened. This was news he definitely hadn't been prepared for. He – like everyone else in the country – had assumed that there would be a restoration of peace after Lavender had returned to the throne. He hadn't entertained any notions that it would be an easy road, nor that there wouldn't be any more bloodshed on the behalf of the Gales. But he'd known – no, he'd hoped, like every other old order fool, that perhaps the country would fight its way to the times of calm and prosperity it had once known. He'd believed the Gales would forge the way.

"What about DG?" he asked, cursing himself forever for speaking the words aloud. "Can't she take the throne?"

"If Azkadellia were to step down, DG is next in the line of succession, though neither Az or Lavender have any intention of that happening," Glitch said. "Or, of course, DG could try taking it by force... but she doesn't want it. I brought it up to her myself."

"How'd that go?"

Glitch blew air through his lips and shook his head. When it was clear he wouldn't elaborate, Cain sighed.

"You still ain't said what any of this has to do with me."

Glitch laughed, but it was a cold and hollow sound. "Don't think for a second that I singled you out for any dire and dangerous reason," Glitch said. "I sent for Raw, too. Just in case."

Cain took a moment to steel himself before he asked the obvious question. He was going to regret this.

"Just in case _what_, Glitch."

Glitch's lips stretched into a tired smile, his eyes falling to half-mast as he regarded Cain seriously. It was all too clear that he'd spent more time mulling this over in his rehabilitated brain. He ran both hands through his bristly, short hair before tucking them behind his head.

"DG is well aware of the problems that could arise if Azkadellia regains the throne too quickly, say, next week," Glitch said, his voice taking on an overly-dramatic, ominous undertone that made Cain consider just how much he'd underestimated the situation that morning when he'd left his home. "Now, what she doesn't know is that as second-in-line, she's got supporters that would fight to put her on the throne instead of Az. She doesn't know that civil unrest could break out in _her_ name – and she doesn't need to, either."

"If her mother dies and there's a riot to bring Az down, she'll figure it out pretty damn quick," Cain said; the words were hard, but there was no conviction behind them. He was too tired to even put in the effort.

"There won't be a riot," Glitch said hesitantly, "but there is a chance we might have to get DG out of the city, just to be on the safe side."

Cain growled. _And there's the hitch. Welcome back to Central City, Wyatt._

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_Author's Note: Thank you so much for the encouraging (and staggering) feedback on the first chapter. I'm really excited to be pulling all of you along for this new adventure!_


	3. Shame and Shadow

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

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**_When Last We Met: Cain arrives in Central City after six months at Glitch's behest to learn that the regency of Lady Lavender is soon to come to an end, and the threat of rebellion to place DG on the throne in her sister's place looms on the horizon. His return to Central City is marred as he tries to ignore the hurt and ruin he left behind, and what now must be done to repair it.  
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**Chapter Three: Shame and Shadow**

Some said that Central City never slept. Ten annuals ago, Cain would have agreed, but those nights were long gone and these were not the streets he used to walk.

He'd left Glitch in the conference room, walked right on out after coming to the realization that there would be no going back to his own bed for a good long while. Somewhere along the line, he seemed to have taken a leaf out of DG's book; his only inclination was to run. Too bad he couldn't get far. The room they'd prepared for him was part of the family residence. Easy as breathing, he'd waltzed right into a trap and now he couldn't get out.

He was needed, there was no escaping it. Whether Lavender stepped down or died from her own stubbornness, the situation in the O.Z. was about to change. What happened next would be anyone's guess.

So here he was, part of a contingency plan. If he'd had an optimistic side, it would have been telling him least-ways this time it was all laid out before him, black-and-white, fine print already read; no, he wouldn't be on the tail of a memory-driven princess, dragged to every Gods-forsaken corner of the Zone. However, he didn't have an optimistic side, and he was in a dour mood by the time his boots hit the street and he was able to breathe the free air outside the palace gates.

It didn't take long to get out of the Central district; he chose a direct route and didn't look back. A narrow, winding corridor of stairs took him up to the second level; the grating clanged beneath his feet, but he didn't see a soul around to be bothered by the racket. He came out in the north sector of the Bellicose district, close to the apartment he and Adora – and later on, Jeb – had called home during his annuals working under the Mystic Man.

He recognized these streets, each sign, window, and door-step. The entire block was deserted, and not a light shone from any of the windows above him; the street-lamps cast their harsh light, creating shadows that were all the darker. No life seemed to linger here, and it was this thought that finally helped Cain to begin to calm. With a drawn-out sigh, he leaned his back against the brick wall, eyes closed and ears pricked.

Central City, the only true stronghold of the royal family; her defences had toppled against the treachery of the Sorceress. The last stand of the city had failed almost too easily, as if Azkadellia had breezed in by invitation. The loss of the Tin Men had been nothing in the pale light of morning; news had travelled to Finaqua – and Queen Lavender – of her final defeat. By the following night, before the fires in Central City had burned themselves out, Lavender had fallen to her daughter, and the beast that fed off her.

He'd seen all this in Glitch's memory, Raw's mirror-vision in the dirty looking glass of safe-house. As Ambrose had delivered the grievous news to his doomed queen, Wyatt Cain had been laying low, waiting for his opportunity to smuggle himself out of the city; thoughts of his own failure had been far from his mind, his singular concern was for his wife and son. He hadn't known then that the end would come so soon.

Cain shook his head, his chin almost brushing against his chest as he pushed back the onslaught of his memories, that painful clench in his chest that reminded him always that a heart beat under his fragile flesh, vulnerable and battered, a survivor where all else had perished.

The drone of the city helped to ground him, kept him from falling head-first into the raging flood that was his loss. It was a fight to keep the guilt where it belonged, waiting for the numbness that would eventually return. Old wounds had been torn afresh and did not easily heal a second time.

How long he stayed leaning up against the wall, arms crossed over his chest – for the ease, for the comfort, for the protection of his ever-beating heart – he couldn't say, but soon a distant bell rang out the hour of three, and he was brought out of his meditation only to realize that he was stiff, cold, and still indefinitely stuck in Central City.

The walk back to the palace was a long one. He chose a different path, though what caused him to decide on the particular series of twists and turns, he wasn't sure. Cain knew the city by heart, the people and businesses may have changed, but the streets and walkways never did. By the time he'd wound up back in the Central district, he was thinking about the bed that waited for him. Whatever dreams also loomed inevitable, he was too tired to venture a guess, or even care to.

As luck would have it, sleep was driven completely from his mind as the palace gates came into his view. It was the brightest street he'd been on, so there was no mistaking the darkened shadow that cut across the shafts of light cast by the high lamps that lined the gate. A hazy blackness, there and then gone in the blink of an eye, but Cain wasn't one to blink at the wrong moment. The shadow was on the move. He watched as it ducked into an alley.

He could have ignored it; he could have shut his eyes and shaken his head and told himself that he was getting old, and overdue to hit his own sheets. The long hours on the road that day were finally catching up to him and exhaustion was playing tricks on his mind; it would have made a fine excuse, and no one would have blamed him for it. As it was, he only had time to growl to himself before he was doubling back the way he'd come.

Quick as a runner scout, Cain didn't stop until he reached the alley's far-end. Considering that he was taking a big chance on who – or what – he would find, he was surprisingly calm; there was no race to his pulse or pound to his heart, but for what his sprint had caused. There was only the cool damp of the city air as he breathed it in, the touch of it on his cheeks and hands, the back of his neck. He listened.

For a shadow, it made no attempt to quiet the sound feet made on the pavement. The alley was little more than a walkway cut between two of the towers that crowded the Central district, and the beat of hard-soled shoes echoed loudly; whoever it was, they weren't running, but they were hurrying nonetheless. The sound approached him, and the blurry shadow passed him; close up, he could see the outline of a hooded figure within the unnatural gathering of darkness. The strange figure came to a stop on the street, and the concealing cloud of shadow dissipated, leaving only the person who'd summoned it.

He hadn't been noticed; the street on which they now stood was overshadowed by tall towers, in plain sight of dozens of windows. The few lights that shone were reflected in every bit of brass around them, star-bursts rising up the tower faces into the darkness. There was no second level to impede the eye's climb to the dizzying heights of the spires far above. Beyond that, lost in the blackness, was the sky, the moons, and the true stars.

Cain cleared his throat, raising his head just as the cloaked figure turned; just as he'd expected, he found himself face to face with DG. For the briefest moment, he saw her unguarded; then, she came to full recognition and something in her eyes shifted, and that glimpse of her was lost behind her own well-set defences.

"That shadow magic ain't gonna do you any good if you don't learn to mask your footfalls. I could hear you coming before you were halfway up the alley," he told her.

"I figured I'd be seeing you sooner or later," she said, no reaction in the slightest at his presence. "What are you doing here?" She watched him uneasily, as if he'd learned a little bit of magic of his own and had appeared out of nowhere just to torment her.

"Found myself on the receiving end of a royal summon this morning," he said. "Got here just to find out there's nothing going on yet."

Even at the vaguest mention of the trouble going on within the city walls, something inside of DG stiffened; her shoulders straightened and she lifted her chin. He knew better than to go into the finer details of what Glitch had called him to Central for. First and foremost, he was here to support DG – if and when the time came for DG to need protection instead of friendship, well... there was no use thinking to hard on that one just yet.

"Who–?"

He caught her eyes, and gave her half a smile; it was all he could muster through the chill that was slowly overtaking him. "Glitch seemed to think you could use a few more friends around."

DG nodded. "Raw is coming, too, then?"

"By the look of things, we should see him tomorrow."

That brought a smile to her lips; it was barely what one would consider a smile, but it was enough for him. "Good," she said, and it seemed that at just the thought of the Viewer's presence, all the tension went out of her and she calmed. "Were you following me?" she asked, turning to look down the dark alley. At the far end and across the street, the tall perimeter fence of the palace could be seen, lit up like daylight.

"I was heading back when I saw you jump the fence."

DG smiled a little wider; for the briefest moment, he could have sworn it was an honest one. "I didn't jump the fence, I went through it."

He raised an eyebrow. "What's the mutt been teaching you?" he asked, trying to mask genuine concern. On the one hand, she didn't need an easier way to get into trouble; on the other, it seemed wise to teach her a way of getting herself out of it.

"Horrible, deplorable, unspeakable things," she said; her mastery of deadpan worked against him now. He didn't trust magic, not by a long-shot; while he'd seen DG put it to good use with his own eyes, he'd seen and heard too much of magic's darker nature to put his faith into it. "I should get back. He'd probably be mad if he found out I was practising so late."

"He doesn't know you're out here?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "No one does, that's the point."

"You want to explain what you're doing outside at three in the morning, then?" he asked, frowning at her.

"No. Do you?" She faked a grin at him, trying to be charming and succeeding in all the wrong ways. He'd forgotten how she could move so easily between endearing and irritating.

"Fair enough," he said, long since knowing which battles to choose. "But you're walking back with me. You ain't leaving me out here in the cold."

She looked about to argue – he wouldn't have been surprised if she'd started up – but after a long moment, she gave a resigned sigh and nodded, as if granting his request (if you could call it that) was due penance. When he managed to catch her eyes, just seconds before they both entered the utter dark of the alley, he saw something he didn't like, something that reminded him too much of the wild girl who'd thrown open his tin suit without a single thought to what she might find within. She offered him that broken, weak smile again; he wondered if she knew what he saw.

The gate security barely batted an eyelash at the fact that Cain returned with DG at his side. No one asked questions, no one had a right to, but the expressions of confusion on the faces of the guards wasn't lost on Cain as he followed DG through the gate and up the long drive to the darkened palace.

"This happen often?" he asked her once they'd reached the family entrance, where more guards watched her with interest.

"No," she said. "You're going to get me in trouble, now that they've all seen me come in when they didn't see me leave." She seemed not to care what those who worked around her thought, which was in keeping with what he knew of her, but at the same time, something vital had changed. As he watched her, he realized the difference overtook everything about her, from her eyes to her step to her flighty smile.

In the safety of the elevator, he stood while she sat down on the edge of a cushioned bench. "You all right, Kid?"

She nodded absently, not looking at him. "Fine as can be expected."

"Something you need getting off your chest?"

Her eyes snapped up at him, biting and blue. "No."

_No, or just not with me, Princess?_

It was no secret – at least not to Cain – how much this girl and the inevitable reunion with her had crossed his mind over the past six months he'd been out of the city. While he'd never expected things to return to the way they'd been – he'd burned that bridge the night he'd said goodbye – he hadn't thought that her anger would stand in the way of friendship. He was here for her, that much was abundantly obvious and he made no attempt to hide it. Whether or not it would ever come down to his assistance being required in a more professional capacity, something was going to have to give between them. He needed to make amends, as much as it pained him. She needed to understand.

"Listen, Deege –"

She shook her head, and the simple gesture stopped whatever words he'd been meaning to say in their tracks – damn it all to hell, what _could_ he say? He didn't need to apologize for leaving, for leaving _her_ after she'd –

"I appreciate that you're here, Mr. Cain, I really do," DG said after a moment. Cain bit the inside of his lip to keep an outburst in check – Ozma's sake, when had they gone back to _Mister_? "Don't think that I need you here. This wasn't what you wanted, I know that. We can get by just fine on our own, you know, if you'd rather –"

Cain snorted. "If I'd rather what? Wouldn't be right for me to sit by while you and the zipperhead are in need."

"If you hadn't noticed, he isn't a zipperhead any more."

"I did notice. Also noticed that you don't seem yourself."

She glared at him, eyes sparking. He should have known that it would be easier to incense her than to coax her with kindness.

"How should I seem, then?" she asked, almost petulantly. The hurt in her eyes caused something deep inside to stir and ache within him. "Happy to see you? Glad you're here to watch everything fall apart?"

"It won't fall apart, DG."

"How do you – no, never mind. You know, you have some nerve. You show up in the middle of the night after half a year, expecting you can just pick up the pieces where you left them."

He opened his mouth to argue, to put her assumptions back in their place, but the next moment, the lift lurched to a stop and the doors rolled open. DG gave him one last, hard stare before turning and walking away from him, disappearing into the depths of the family residence with no trace of shadow magic involved.

Once upon a time, he would have chased after her, told her she was wrong. Instead, he let her go, and cursed himself for coming back.


	4. The Regent's Plight

_Author's Note: A very big 'thank you so much!' goes out to Scarlet Garter, who pointed out that I was misusing the term 'regnant'; all corrections to the proper term ('regent') have been made. I am sorry for the confusion on my behalf._

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**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

**

* * *

**_When Last We Met: After an invitation to Central City from Glitch, Cain arrives to find everything not as he left it. With Lady Lavender growing weaker, Akadellia preparing to reclaim the throne, and the threat of the New Resistance, he is left to wait for the official announcement and the world as he knows it to change._

_

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_

**Chapter Four: The Regent's Plight**

A sharp, officious knock on his door brought Cain out of a distant daydream. He sat up quickly, knocking to the floor the book that had rested on his chest. He couldn't for the life of him remember what he'd been reading; he tried to recall it as he shook the cobwebs out of his mind, but he came up with nothing.

Cain left the book where it lay as he stood and stretched. He was stiff and sore from having fallen asleep in the chair and the kinks wouldn't be easing from his shoulders any time soon. He should have known better; the chairs, like everything in the Central Palace, could be misleadingly enticing.

In the past few days of adjusting to his new life of relative leisure, Cain had learned a few things – one of them being that only a handful of people came knocking on his door, and none were unwelcome. Not to say that he hadn't received more than a few quaking messenger boys delivering reports, boys expecting a rumoured hero and finding only a tired ex-Tin Man on the other side of the door.

He braced himself as he opened the door; living in the palace also had that unfortunate effect on him. He lived under the pretence that at any moment, his entire world could shift. If it meant that he answered his door with a certain amount of trepidation, he supposed it was to be expected.

Bad news did not await him, however, as he was greeted with the sight of the mutt in man-form, watery eyes full of the same anticipation Cain had felt in his own self before he'd turned the knob.

"Everything all right there, Will?" he asked, standing back for the old man to enter. Tutor did so uneasily, glancing around to see how very little belied Wyatt's presence in this place; but for the body that had answered the door, no one could say this room was lived in at all.

"Lady Lavender has requested a meeting with you. You're to go immediately." The old man begrudged having to deliver this news, that much was plain in tone alone.

Cain cleared his throat, biting back the desire to laugh outright. "That it?"

"Mostly," Tutor said, tucking his hands into the pockets of his vest.

Frowning, Cain turned away so that Tutor wouldn't catch him rolling his eyes impatiently. Of all the things he had not missed, it was the way these people seemed to want to dance around every single moment and situation. He could cut the time he spent talking to everyone in half if they'd just get to their damn point straight off. The only person who had ever seemed to understand this was DG – and she had precious little to say to him of late.

"Mind elaborating on _mostly_, Pooch?" Cain prompted when it became obvious that Tutor wasn't going to get anywhere without more conversational side-stepping.

"Have you met with Lavender since you arrived, Mr. Cain?"

"I wasn't aware she was taking visitors."

Tutor smiled. "You know she's still going on as best she can. With no intention of stepping down for Az to resume governing in her place."

Cain bit his tongue. _Sounds about as stubborn as DG; knew the girl had to get it from somewhere. _Though, in all fairness, he'd already figured this one out. The hours after the double eclipse, when Azkadellia had succumbed to anguish, becoming near-catatonic with guilt, it was Lavender who had taken charge of the Resistance fighters, worked with the Sorceress' advisors at negotiating the surrender of the Longcoats. It was as if nine annuals of imprisonment had done nothing to her, as if she were not Lightless.

Seemed a shame to see that same strength of spirit fail the regent now.

"She's got Azkadellia in a tight spot, right enough," Cain said, shaking his head disapprovingly. If Lavender did not step down and give her blessing to her daughter, the people would never support Azkadellia. If the woman was coming closer and closer to her journey over the sands, it was downright idiotic to push herself into maintaining order in her daughter's stead. The more he spoke with those closest to the Gales – Glitch, Tutor, hell, even the Seeker himself – the more he learned that he wasn't the only mind of this opinion.

"Lavender has confidence she can continue." The disbelief was so thick in Tutor's voice that it caused Cain to raise an eyebrow.

"And you don't agree with her."

A breathy chuckle escaped the old teacher as he shook his head. "It was my knowledge that was sought in the beginning, Mr. Cain, never my opinion. I did my best, but... well, I'm just a teacher. Astor would have known better what to expect."

Cain grit his teeth against the mention of the Mystic Man. How his loss had altered the outcome, changed all their paths. His own most of all. Had the old man known what he was doing when he forced Cain to stay with DG?

"What could the Mystic Man have helped?" Cain asked. "His power was almost as broken as Lavender's, by the time the Sorceress was done with him." Though, from what DG had told him, the old coot had regained some of it before the end.

Tutor only shook his head. "There's no chance of helping anything. There never was. Only Glinda could help Lavender now."

"You don't believe in those fairy tales, Will." Cain raised an eyebrow.

"I would if it meant saving someone," Tutor said. "But I stand by Lavender's decision. I will serve her unto the end of the world."

"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Tutor's fidelity didn't surprise him in the least, at least not where the Gales were concerned. The mutt had more than proved himself during the siege on the tower, even Cain had faced that fact in the sunslight of the aftermath. It wouldn't be wrong to assume his loyalty was due to his blood, but considering his earlier errors of judgement, Cain figured it was guilt as much as anything that bound Tutor to Lavender, DG, and Azkadellia.

_Well,_ he thought, _I guess we all got our reasons._

_

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_

There had been a time in his life when Wyatt Cain had easily navigated the tightest spaces, the darkest places in Central City without batting an eyelash. His time in the suit, however, had affected more than just his body, more than his conscience. The realization had come to him slowly over the intervening months he'd been breathing the free air, but he'd learned that he no longer could be so unhindered by his surroundings.

So when the door of Lady Lavender's suite closed behind him, his escape invariably cut off, it shouldn't have surprised him how quickly the air seemed to close in on him. He hadn't expected it, hadn't braced for it; it left hesitation in his step, and he forced himself to continue on into the over-stuffed room. The bow of his chin was jerky, flawed as he paid his respect to Lavender. It wasn't until he'd raised his eyes from the floor that he realized the regent wasn't alone. In the far corner of the room, so separated from her mother that another pair of untrained eyes might not have noticed her at all. She was curled up with her sketchpad, her own eyes on him, a concern in her face that was not repeated in her mother's. She'd taken notice of his discomfort. Cain frowned; of course, she would.

"Mr. Cain," Lavender said, oblivious to his discomfort. His attention was dragged back to her, and he was struck by the changes in her since he'd last seen her, a few days before his departure all those months ago. She seemed _less_ somehow; colour had all but left her; skin faded, greyish, where once she'd merely been fair and pale. "I hope you are well?"

It seemed trivial, to have a woman slowly losing her struggle with illness inquire after his well being. He'd expected gaunt, he'd expected raspy, he'd expected that death-bed glow. All he saw was a woman slowly being leeched of every colour that made her vibrant and beautiful.

"I'm well, thank you, my lady," he said. He did not ask after her health, and in a moment, she gave him a smile of relief.

"I am sorry to call for you at this hour," she began, "but there are a few matters I wish to touch upon with you. DG, my darling, if you would –" There was no need for her to finish, because DG rose – most ladylike, Cain noted disdainfully – and gathered her pencils and her books. Every move was automatic, the tucking away of her creative implements into a leather satchel; Cain guessed that she was used to being asked to make herself scarce when the grown-ups started their jawing; his suspicions confirmed as she gave him one last petulant glance before leaving, he kept his eyes on the floor to stop from turning his head as she passed by.

After the door had closed – softly, to his great interest – Lavender settled her eyes on him and Cain resisted the urge to shiver. The once distinctive lavender irises had hazed to indeterminate grey.

"How does my daughter seem to you, Mr. Cain?" she asked.

Had he really been brought here to talk about DG? It didn't seem right that she would ask him, when she herself would know better than anyone how DG was coping. Then again...

"She seems fine enough, as far as I can tell. Wound tighter than a clockwork soldier, mind you."

Lavender did not respond, only gave him a knowing smile that ran much deeper than Cain cared to delve just then – or at any point.

"My daughter is much more perceptive than most would assume, Mr. Cain," she said. "There are those that believe absolutely that Slippers are free spirits; unrestrained and easily distracted by the brightness of our world. While this can certainly be true in some cases..." She paused, and sighed. "My daughter is underestimated by those who stop to consider her at all; she has this to her great advantage, and she is coming to realize it."

There was nothing that Cain could say; the regent was telling him nothing that he hadn't already figured out on his own. He waited as Lavender readjusted herself in her bed, straightening her back against the mammoth cushioned headboard mounted behind her bed. The throne of a dying queen.

"I was hesitant at first," Lavender continued, turning her muted silver eyes on him again, "when Ambrose suggested his intentions to send for you. May I ask what it was that kept you away?"

"Just trying to settle."

"So far from Central City?" she asked; he'd intrigued her. Damn it.

"No better place."

She smiled again; whatever ailed her, it seemed to neither dampen her spirit or shake her resolve. She was quieter, yes, but by his recollection, she'd always been a bit wispy. It seemed to be one thing about her that had not been passed to either of her daughters.

"Yet you came back when they asked you to." There was admiration in her face, and it made him wholly uncomfortable. His fingers itched to find somewhere better to rest, something to anchor on like his belt or his gun. He near had to force himself to keep his hands at his sides.

"I came where I was needed, my lady."

Lavender smirked; an outright _smirk_, which unsettled him more than he cared to admit even to himself. If something was funny, he wasn't aware of it and didn't want to be. "I would think it were more a case of being where one was _wanted_, Mr. Cain." Before he could even think to respond, she was moving on. "What know you of the New Resistance?"

Cain cleared his throat. "Very little. News doesn't travel fast on the outer edges of the realms."

"It travels still," Lavender said. "Word of my illness is spreading quickly. It would have reached you wherever you'd gone to hide, that is assured."

He bit his tongue. Wouldn't be right to defend himself when he wasn't sure she was entirely wrong to be calling him out.

"While this New Resistance is of concern, we will not let it hinder us. I will hold this kingdom together as long as I am able," she continued. "This country needs time to forgive its queen, and I do everything in my power to ensure that time to my daughter."

As Cain stood there, saying nothing, a mess of heavily-opinionated sentences were festering unsaid in the back of his throat. The people of the Zone didn't need time to stop seeing Azkadellia as the Sorceress; it was Lavender who needed to step down, and stop trying to change the course of things.

"Once official word is announced of my condition, there are those on my council who fear there will be... activity from the New Resistance."

"As do you," Cain said.

Lavender nodded solemnly. "The New Resistance poses no threat without DG. They will _never_ sway her to their cause, but I do not wish for her to even become aware of their existence. It would confuse her."

Cain frowned. He was really beginning to question this woman's judgement. He had no intention of making any promises about keeping things from DG. If the time came for her to know, he knew he'd be the one to lay it all out for her. He owed the girl that much.

"I want my daughter kept safe," Lavender said, and the sincerity on her face hurt his heart. "Both of my daughters; Azkadellia has her duties here, and I know that I will not be able to protect her from them much longer. DG, however, I can keep safe, even if it means sending her far from the conflict."

"She won't go easily."

Lavender smiled. What this woman had to smile about for all the dark clouds on her horizon, he didn't know.

"If it meant granting my last wish, Mr. Cain," she said quietly, "I think she'd go very easily indeed."

He listened to her for quite a while longer, keeping his eyes on her and his nods brief, as she droned on at length about her hopes for Azkadellia's second chance. He stayed as attentive as he could as she waxed poetic about birthright, duty, reconstruction, and sacrifice. When finally her voice started to weaken and she began to trail off at awkward places, Cain excused himself politely as he was able and all but ran from the room. The first breath of air in the hallway – stuffy as it was – still left him gulping for more like a drowning man.

Tutor's words came back to him as soon as he was alone. _"There's no chance of helping anything. There never was. Only Glinda could help Lavender now."_ Something more was going on, he could smell it in the air, feel the guises and untruths brushing against his skin every time he moved.

His thoughts whirred so loudly in his head as he traversed the halls of the royal residence that he was sure that every maid and pageboy that crossed his path could hear them. Wyatt Cain hadn't been well-educated; he'd been born to hard-working parents, with tools in his hands instead of books. He held no delusions in thinking he knew much at all about the world in which he lived, and he could admit that he knew even less – almost nothing at all – about the magic forces that ran like an electrical current beneath everything in the Zone, the Light and Dark that connected each being, lacing lives and land together in a tangled web in ways he couldn't ever hope to fathom.

However, in all his annuals, since he was knee-high to his daddy and onward, his experience and intuition had served him better than book learning ever could. Even now, as he was stuck in a political mire and was about to be heading in deeper despite his most serious reservations, he knew more than enough to be taken in by the pretty lies of Lady Lavender.

The door to DG's suite was in front of him before he realized he'd made a conscious decision to talk to her. On the night of his arrival, Glitch had split at the seams and spilled anything and everything that he'd known. Cain, however, was still trying to sort through the mess of suspicions clouding his mind, and he knew where the most honest person in all of Central City slept.

He rapped hard on the door, ears keened for any scuffling inside that would give her away. If his heart was pounding in his chest, he did his best to ignore its existence. That did little more than make him want to turn tail and run, but he kept his feet anchored until he heard the distinct click of shoes in front of the door. Moments later, it was pulled inward, and a pair of sky eyes were training on him.

DG frowned. "You know, the last time you showed up at my door this late, it didn't end too well. What do you want?"

He tried his best to swallow back the grimace of annoyance that wanted to surface, which only served to make him seem in pain. "You got some talking to do, little girl. Mind letting me in?"


	5. The Road to Hell

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

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**_When Last We Met: Eight months after the double eclipse, the Regency of Lady Lavender is coming to an end. However, after words of warning from Tutor and one meeting with Lavender, Cain realizes there is more threatening the Gales than the New Resistance. Wanting answers, Cain seeks out his most valuable - albeit unwilling - source of information._

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**Chapter Five: The Road To Hell**

DG had been drawing. Unlike her small scattering of supplies in her mother's room that had been easily swept away, her own sitting room looked like a travel storm had ripped through it, without the added benefit of the storm whipping everything away into another world. On every available work space – those that weren't piled high with thick-spined, leathery old books – was littered with pencils, or open kits of colours, or ink bottles, or rulers, protractors, erasers, brushes, charcoals, or crumpled squares of stiff, creamy paper.

An easel was set up near the window, and it was here that she'd been sitting – or at least, Cain assumed, as the first thing she did after reluctantly letting him into her room was drape a grey drop-cloth over the easel and whatever she'd been working on when he'd interrupted her.

"I thought you'd wait until morning," she said, moving restlessly relocating her art supplies from one table to another, each movement as useless as the one before.

He scowled. "Got a few things on my mind," he said, when he was able to swallow back the nastier words that had come to his mind. "It'd keep me up all night. Looks like it's already doing the same to you." He jerked his chin toward the shrouded easel. It struck a sensitive nerve, that she hid her work from him; hard-pressed not to let on, he cleared his throat. The lump stayed put.

"Got a few things on my mind, too," she admitted – and then she shook her head at herself. "More than a few things. Drawing helps me clear my conscience before bed."

He raised an eyebrow. "May I see?"

"No."

_Fair enough_, he thought, but kept his comments to himself. She looked away from him, and with a verbal grace that belied a thousand conversations with a thousand strangers, she swiftly changed the subject.

"Mother must have been as clear as dishwater, if she got you this worried."

"I'm not worried."

"You could have fooled me." She smirked. It was the closest she'd yet come to a smile – in his presence, at least. "Listen, Cain, if you came to talk, can we make it quick? It's almost midnight."

"Depends on how fast you're gonna tell me the truth." He could have laughed at her thinly veiled attempts to be rid of him, if he hadn't already known that patronizing her would only raise her walls all the more. However, as he waited for her to rise to his baiting, he realized she was descending instead, though into what he wasn't entirely sure. Suddenly, she seemed the worried one, her detachment breaking with one tiny frown.

It had taken him a long time, before and after the double eclipse, to learn to gauge her reactions; it was the best way to interpret how she would act, to start to understand her unpredictable nature. Now, after all the distance he'd put between them in the intervening months, he had no clue what sort of return was due.

"I don't owe you answers, Cain," she said; her gaze hit the floor, stayed there. He hoped his worn boots were interesting.

"I'd settle for an explanation."

She nodded. "As soon as someone gives me one, I'll be sure to pass it along."

"That woman isn't sick," he said.

She looked up, and he managed to catch her eyes right off. There was a fire there, when he'd expected to see the fright of a child. His first surprise.

"No, not sick," DG said. "She's still dying. It's my fault," she continued, and he was forced to grit his teeth against the impatience that wanted to tear from his mouth.

_It always manages to make it round to being your fault,_ he thought. A familiar sadness settled over him. She shouldered the same blame as he; they were the only witnesses to their own crimes, forced to be helpless bystanders.

"Why don't we just skip the part where it's your fault and get to you telling me what the hell is going on around here."

DG sighed. "I don't owe you answers," she repeated, however infirmly.

Cain was nothing but patience. As much as it annoyed him, he'd stay all night if he had to, if it took that long to wheedle it out of her. "Kiddo," he said, watching her eyes flick to the floor again at the name, "by my reckoning, you do."

"Failing health," DG said, her shoulders falling as if all her energy had gone into those two words. "That's what they'll announce. It's true, for the most part. People will understand sickness; they'll accept it, even if they don't want to."

"What's really happening to her?"

Fire flared up in her eyes again, and she turned them on him with a force that made him wince, physically wince. "I don't _know,_ I told you that. She does, though, I know she does. Tutor, too, I think."

There was nothing he knew to say. If it was obvious even to his own eyes that something more than the virulence of mere men affected Lavender, it was no wonder that she had been banished – or banished herself – to the protection of her own rooms. He knew from listening to Glitch's idle prattle about the goings-on in the palace that very few were permitted an audience with the regent. It seemed that in sequestering herself, all she had accomplished was to fuel the speculation and rumour in the halls of the palace and out in the streets of the city.

"Seems to me that whatever ails her, hiding it isn't gonna cause anything but trouble and heartache."

"How long would it take for people to shift the blame to my sister, if illness wasn't the cause?" she asked; he knew better than to answer. There was no doubt whatsoever that she was dead-on right. "They think she's still evil, that she can never – that we can never – oh damn it," she muttered, and turned away from him. He recognized the quickened pace to her speech all too well, the wavering break in her voice. "It's not Az's fault."

"You don't need to tell me that, Deege. And by what I can tell, it isn't yours, either."

Her eyes caught his, burned into him. She seemed to be biting back some response, and either managed to force it back or forget it all together, because after no more than a few seconds had passed, she was shaking her head and going back to picking up her abandoned art supplies. This time, she seemed to be moving with more focus – chased, probably, by the very words she'd refused to say.

It was his first instinct to tell her to just come out with it; he didn't need her hiding anything from him, not now, when at any day, they were going to be taking up old paths, wherever the road might end up leading them. He realized, as he watched her close kits and toss papers and file brushes and pencils into desk drawers, that she didn't need his pushing. Whatever was eating her up inside would eventually make its way out of her, however inopportune the forthcoming moment would be. After all, it was just her way, and he couldn't expect her to change because he was tired of having to see her suffer.

She caught him watching her practised steps throughout her sitting room. "If I don't put these away where I want them, the maids put them where they think they should go."

Cain gave her a slow nod. "Listen, I –"

"You better not be apologizing," DG said, laughing nervously. She'd finished putting the last of her supplies away, and turned to look at him expectantly, as if still daring him to attempt it.

"I don't apologize," he said. "Although you've been making me want to, the way you've been avoiding me since I got here."

The flimsy smile on her face disappeared. "Is that why you came to me, instead of going to Tutor or Glitch?"

"Rethinking that now, but yeah."

She grumbled something to herself, words so low that he did not hear them. She then took a deep breath and centred her gaze on him. "They didn't tell you anything before?"

"Seems like I got the 'official story' from Glitch when I arrived," Cain said with a roll of his eyes. "And the mutt's broad hints are starting to make a little more sense now."

Her smile was back at the mention of Glitch, glimpses of a happiness tinged with something heavier, sunslight through leaves. "I keep telling Glitch he's retired, he doesn't have to keep my mother's secrets any more," she said. "This has been just as hard on him, though he's trying not to let on. He reads like a book, though, a really confusing book."

"So do you," he said; he wanted to smile at the words, it was in him to, but he just... couldn't.

She seemed not to know how to take the comment. "Less confusing, I hope," she said, the weak, nervous laughter back.

"Little less, I suppose."

DG frowned, and seemed to consider him; her eyes went to his boots again. "Why did you come back?" she asked, but never paused to give him a chance to answer – not that he already hadn't, the night he'd arrived. "You left to get away from the noise and trouble; you think I don't know that, but I do. I knew it the night you told me you were leaving."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd known it would come down to this, on this night – after all, the confrontation would eventually have taken place, no matter how far he'd run or how much she tried to stay away from him after his return. Their first meeting deemed only to prove that they were both beginning to choke on the unsaid.

"I would've found myself back this way once they made this announcement they're planning."

"She should have made an announcement a long time ago," DG said with a shake of her head; her expression was deeply disapproving. "She's only doing it now because Azkadellia is pushing it through. It was my father's idea, and Glitch's, though he insists on being the silent partner. He doesn't want to hurt Mother's feelings."

"It needs to be done."

DG watched him carefully; it wasn't a pleasant experience, to endure the scrutiny of her sky eyes. "My mother just wants to give the O.Z. a chance at happiness."

"I'm sure it started out that way, Kiddo."

Whatever she seemed to be looking for from him, he knew she wasn't going to find it. Sure enough, she looked away and sank her body down into the nearest chair; the first half of her movement was fluid and graceful, but as she settled, she slumped against the back rest and tucked her legs up. A very unladylike posture to be sure, but for the first time since he'd come into her suite, she seemed comfortable.

"You were there, too, Cain," DG said, as if he needed reminding. "I really thought she was going to be able to fix everything. She was in no better shape than Az, I shouldn't have let her –" She sighed, exasperated. "You know, on the Other Side, they say that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions."

"People say that on this side, too. I just don't think too many are gonna see it that way," he said, keeping his eyes on her face; she was off in thought, chewing absently at her lip, her eyes barely focusing on whatever they rested upon. He couldn't exactly say he was growing impatient with all this dallying; all she'd been able to do was confirm his suspicions, he would have to chase after Tutor, who seemed to know more than he had previously let on. It was safe to say, however, that he'd had enough of this grudging kindness from her as she tried to hide her hurt feelings. He didn't want to be one more weight for her conscience to drag along.

"Is Jeb still a part of the Resistance?"

Cain found himself at a loss for words as he tried to contemplate her meaning. The Resistance, as it had stood after the fall of the Sorceress, had helped to reform the Queen's royal army, and she knew that. "No. He fought to put your mother back in power."

"I thought he fought to bring an end to the Sorceress, the same as you."

He weathered this as he might have a physical blow; he struggled with his response. "Didn't much get a chance to fight for either, if you'll remember, Princess. Not until the very end, at least."

She nodded; she still hadn't looked at him, still hadn't taken her eyes off of whatever captivated her so. Considering she'd spent so much of their time together that night staring at his boots, he honestly didn't need to know what she stared at now. "I wish I knew how to make people believe Azkadellia will be a good queen."

_Too many are convinced you'd make a better one, Princess._ It was a bitter thought, and it shamed him; DG was a sharp girl, and it didn't surprise him in the slightest that she knew of the activity that took place outside the palace walls. "How long you been keeping quiet about what you know?" he asked.

"About as long as you were gone," she said, and finally turned her eyes on him.

He stepped closer to her chair. Her gaze stayed level on him as he came as close as he dared. He could have reached out to touch her shoulder, but could think of nothing more foolish; no, he kept his hands to himself. "I should have told you sooner that I was leaving, Kiddo."

Her eyes narrowed. "This sounds like the makings of an apology."

"Is it what you want?" he asked, working as hard as he was able to keep it from becoming a demand.

"No," she said. "I just want to know why. I told you everything – _everything._ I don't know why you didn't trust me."

With a sigh, Cain knelt down before the chair, so that instead of looking up at him, now she could look down upon him. "Trust you with my life, darlin', then and now."

DG tucked her feet in closer underneath her body, trying to put more distance between them now that he'd gotten so close. "If that were true, you would have told me you didn't want to stay. You and your sorry excuse for a goodbye. And then to let me go on and on as if I could have convinced you to stay! Why didn't you tell me to stop before I said too much?" Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the memory; he could feel the heat rise to his own face, and he lowered his chin, staring hard at the floor to hide it.

"I was – still am – honoured, Princess, but –"

DG's lips settled into a thin line, and before he could brace himself, she was shoving herself out of the chair and knocking him off balance. His ass hit the carpet and he was left gazing up at her as she stood over him, her long arms wrapped loosely around herself. "Don't _princess_ me and talk about honour, Cain. There was no convincing you to stay, was there? You'd looked me in the face every day for _weeks_ knowing you were leaving, and then you let me –" She let out a long exhale and turned away from him.

He slowly got to his feet. "You telling me you regret saying what you said?"

"Why shouldn't I?" she asked; she kept her back to him. Her hair was longer now; it seemed a silly thing to notice now, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her with her hair down. She seemed to have gotten it under control, it was no longer a mess of wild curls. "I thought I'd chased you away, that you were running from me, until Glitch told me that you'd always intended to leave."

"And I'd always intended for you to know, but –" He paused.

"But what?" There was a roughness to her voice that betrayed the strength she tried to put forth.

"I didn't want to hurt you." He tried putting a hand on her shoulder but she shrugged him off. He replaced his hand, holding it there firmly as she tried once again to brush him off. "Seems now that there was no way to avoid it."

Over her shoulder, she looked down at his hand. Her chin brushed against his fingertips; her cheek twitched.

"The road to Hell is paved with good intentions," she said, drawing in a deep breath. She pressed her cheek into his knuckles then, heat from her face warming his cold hand. "I really, really wish you hadn't come back."

It stung, he couldn't pretend it didn't, but before he could respond to her, try in the very least to assuage the hurt he'd plied on her all those months ago, she was twisting her body towards his, keeping a distance of arm's length between them. His hand fell away from her shoulder; instead of returning it to his side, he kept it in mid-air, near enough but not touching her elbow.

"You're stuck with me now, I think, but if you gave the order, I'd have to follow it," he said, managing to force the words out. He had an out, or close enough to one; what the hell was wrong with him, why wasn't he taking it?

_You're a damn idiot, Wyatt Cain,_ he told himself. She was looking up at him again with those endless blue eyes, and he found himself thinking of all the other follies the road to Hell was rife with.

"You left to get away from all this," she argued. "You don't want this."

He smirked, the thoughts of sin and redemption still flying around his overtired brain. He had no answer for her, so he only gave her arm a gentle squeeze before letting her go altogether. "There's very few people in this life I would willingly take on trouble for. You and yours qualify; after all, don't know when I'm gonna be done owing you a debt of gratitude."

"I don't want your sympathy, or your charity, either."

"How about you just accept my friendship, then?" he offered; no, he didn't know where his patience for this girl came from, as hers for him seemed to have run out long ago. He didn't know why that hurt in her face cinched his chest closed so, or why those eyes of hers bore into him the way that they did. He'd left the city to regain what he could of his sanity – perhaps he'd left a little of that behind, though he didn't know how he was going to go about reclaiming it.

"I think it's time for you to go," she said, refusing to give into his prodding. Sometimes it would catch him off guard, how stubborn she could be, but it never surprised him.

He nodded. "So long as I'm not being banished from the city or your sight."

She gave him a half-smile. "Not tonight."

* * *

Hours later, Cain lay awake in his bed, thinking about home. He thought about the gate he'd meant to rehang, and the barn roof he'd planned on shingling the very morning the messenger had come racing up his road; he thought about firewood that needed to be cut and corded, the garden he'd intended to plant. He thought about how fast he'd run away from Central City to try and dredge up the old pieces of his life, and how fast he'd dropped all those loose ends to come charging back this way.

Six months, that's all it had been. A single winter. Yet, in that short period of time, the hope and promise of peace he'd left behind seemed to have drained away, leaving only a few scared people with no idea of what they were doing. There was no right course of action, and every path seemed only to serve as the wrong one.

His search for answers that evening had ended only with the review of his own missteps and miseries; though he seemed to have begun to bridge the gap that had been left between himself and DG, none of the rampant suspicions in his mind were even close to coming to rest.

_Failing health_, a tiny grain of truth.

"Great Gale," he muttered to himself, sitting up in his bed. "Don't go digging around for more trouble, Wyatt, don't you dare."

A gnawing guilt settled in his chest as he realized he deeply missed his wife's advice. Adora had always had a way of helping clear his focus; his poor wife, so rational and open, never trying to guide his mind, only encouraging. She'd stood by every decision he'd ever made for their family, and they'd all suffered for it. If he could have, he would have taken her death onto his shoulders and borne the burden for all his life; a mite hypocritical of him, when he discouraged the same from his son, from DG.

He had not been called to Central City to save the country, only to keep DG safe, to support his friends through this period of change. He hadn't been lying when he told DG that he would have come when the news had reached him.

_Keep your eyes on the road ahead of you, _he told himself, angrier with himself than he'd been in a long time. _Whatever is gonna happen is gonna happen, and it isn't going to be any of your concern._

Grumbling to himself, he twisted to sit on the edge of the bed, bare feet hitting the soft carpet. '_Isn't going to be any of your concern_'. Huh. That's what he'd tried to tell himself the last time... and he remembered all too painfully how all of that had gone down.


	6. The Calm Before

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

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_When Last We Met: Since the double eclipse, the Outer Zone has come to know tentative peace under the regency of Lady Lavender. However, as she grows weaker, the threat of a New Resistance grows stronger. Wyatt Cain has returned to Central City to help the Gales in their time of need - if one stubborn princess will allow him to make amends._

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**Chapter Six: The Calm Before**

A week to the day after Cain had arrived in Central City, the announcement of Lavender's 'illness' and Azkadellia's impending ascension was delivered to the denizens of the Outer Zone. With DG and her father standing as representatives for the regent, what DG had scathingly referred to as a 'press-conference' was given from the steps of the palace. Twenty stories above, from the relative safety of one of the smaller libraries, Cain wondered if he was living through the beginning of the end, or if it had already long since passed him by.

He'd been there since before the suns had come up, as he'd found himself awake in the blue hour. This corner library was where he'd often found DG and Glitch hiding, their own personal sanctuary in all the mess and buzz that was the early days after the double eclipse, just after the palace had been reclaimed for the Gales. Now, it seemed mostly abandoned, to the point where dust had gathered on the shelves, forgotten even by the cleaning staff.

Standing at the window, Cain stared out at the city. The structures and towers that surrounded the Central Palace were some of the most beautiful in the city, architectural marvels that hearkened to the prosperous days of the centuries that had passed since the city's founding. He'd been the first in his family for generations beyond count to live not only within the walls of Central City itself, but beyond the borders of the Eastern Province.

He'd been little more than a kid then; at the first sight of the fortified city, his feet had rooted themselves to the bricks and stayed there as he gaped with a wonder befitting of his age and experience. As he passed through the gates, he stared up at the imposing towers that crowded the sky; he didn't think his eye had ever climbed so high. He'd only felt intimidation like that once more in his life, laying his eyes for the first time on the Sorceress' tower and wondering how the hell he was meant to get in alive, and out again with a Viewer, a headcase, and a renegade princess in tow.

Now, twenty-three annuals after he'd first clapped eyes on the burnished spires of Central City and eight months after his makeshift recovery mission at the Tower, nothing in either of these so-called marvels fazed him in the least. The city was just a city, reconstructing slowly but still teeming with corruption below the surface.

How would this announcement of Lady Lavender's untimely abdication affect the quiet presence that was the New Resistance, he wondered; would those dissenters be driven into reckless, or possibly even violent, action?

The thought, the uncertainty of it, made him want to sit down. He didn't know how long he'd been standing at the window; since his annuals in the suit, it seemed there could be no end to the amount of time he could endure remaining in one place. There was no other that could contest him at standing still, but after the thoughts of what this announcement could be bringing down onto his head, no, his shoulders, well... it was a little more than he cared to take without moving. If anything, there was an urge in his feet to begin pacing, but instead, he forced himself into a chair, his knee bouncing a static rhythm.

He managed to calm himself down – only just, it seemed – when the door to the library opened and he was joined by two familiar faces, both looking as grim and unsure as he himself felt. Without speaking a word, Raw took a chair opposite him, casting dark-eyed, sidelong glances every few moments; Glitch took up Cain's previous position at the window, going a step further as to throw the curtains open wide amidst a torrent of dust.

It was, of course, Glitch who broke the valued silence. "I figured I would find you here."

Raw snorted, then chuckled. When Cain raised an eyebrow, Raw said in a low, conspiratorial voice, "Twelfth room we checked."

With his back to them, Glitch heaved a great, much put-upon sigh. "I do wish people would stop exaggerating to make me look the fool. It was ten rooms, I believe, and no more."

Raw shook his head. "Twelve. Checked Cain's room and DG's room first."

Glitch froze, which in Cain's mind proved Raw to be right. It took only a few seconds longer to realize what had just been said, and Cain turned a hard, unamused glare at the Viewer seated near him, quite within throttling distance. "Why DG's room?"

While Raw deemed it wise not to respond, Glitch was more than forthcoming. "Oh, don't sound so offended, Wyatt." The use of his given name startled Cain, but did not distract him. "It's not like we expected to find you abed, or in any other way occupied."

Cain grimaced as he stood up from his chair. "These assumptions got anything to do with you dragging me into Central and keeping me here?" It had long since occurred to him that the complexities of his relationship with DG were known to their friends, but it hadn't struck him as possible – or at least probable – that his feelings would be so manipulated to benefit anyone, even if that person so happened to be an unwitting DG.

"Of course not; calm down, Tin Man," Glitch said, lowering his hands in a placating gesture. "I thought you might have been with DG before she – well, in any case, I apologize." The sincerity of his words was more than enough for Cain without further explanation from Glitch, which could end up taking more time than he cared to donate at the moment. He put up a hand to stem whatever might come out of his friend's mouth.

"You keep that smutty mind of yours in your own head, where it belongs," Cain said, though there was no hardness in the comment.

"Too late for that," came Glitch's easy reply.

The room fell then into what could almost be considered an amiable silence. The minutes ticked away, turned into ten and then twenty, and still the quiet drew out around them. The door to the library had been left wide open, but no sound came in from the corridor outside; it seemed as if they were the only bodies occupying this distant corner of the palace.

Finally, his curiosity got the better of him. "When was the last time you met with Lavender?" Cain asked, turning in his chair to face Glitch.

For his part, Glitch seemed to take a moment to consider the answer, though he probably knew down to the hour. "The day before last, I believe," he said, his lips quirking with the traces of a smile. "Why?"

Without answering, Cain turned to Raw. "Yesterday, before you. Very quick," the Viewer said automatically, before Cain had even had the chance to part his lips. Frowning now, he waited for Raw to continue, which he did with great reservation. "She will die," he said, "she is prepared to die. Queen is very sad, very weak, but still fighting."

Glitch walked closer to the two, his voice heavy and low. "Raw, she isn't queen."

The Viewer shook his head, and gave his friends a patient smile. By the Gods, Wyatt couldn't stand when he did that; there was no superiority in Viewer, but his own inferiority in failing to understand these creatures of Light and power. "To people out there, she is queen," Raw said, turning his whole body in his chair toward the window, where the view of the city was little more than the buildings that surrounded the palace, silent sentinels forever guarding the heart of the city. "To Raw, she is queen." He touched his heart.

Cain bit back a growl; he had no stomach for all this sentiment. "Why is she dying?"

Raw shrugged his shoulders. "Light is fading." He spoke as if it were the way of things, and perhaps it was. This was all far beyond Cain's comprehension. "Queen does not want help. Just wants more time; there is very little left."

"No clue as to why it started now?" Cain cast a sidelong glance at Glitch. "After all, it's been fifteen annuals, hasn't it?"

Glitch could only shrug. "There is no way to know. It's possible that so many annuals suspended inside the thaumaturgic isolation chamber crafted by the Sorceress and her alchemists has affected her and continues to affect her. It was suggested putting her back inside the chamber, but she violently refused."

Cain snorted. He could not blame the woman there.

"Not always have to be a reason," Raw said. "Sometimes things just are."

* * *

Without ceremony, Azkadellia quietly resumed the duties that her mother had overtaken after the double eclipse. The regency of the Lady Lavender marked the first time in almost ten annuals when the O.Z. had known internal peace. If anything, Lavender had set the stage for her daughter to make a successful bid as queen.

The announcement itself had sent a shiver of unrest through the palace; the official word that Lavender was indeed ailing, and that the fallen daughter of the country's darkest hour was once again rising to govern the people. Within hours, a vigil for Lavender was gathering at the gates of the palace. When news of it had first reached Cain's ears, he'd gone to one of the lower floors to see it with his own eyes. The sight of so many candles flickering beyond the iron of the gates would have troubled his heart if his mind weren't already set to far more important things.

It eased his conscience some that he wasn't the only one on watch that night; the guards on the gate had been doubled, along with the perimeter fence patrols. According to Glitch, who, to Cain, was about as reliable a source as any despite his unofficial status about the palace, part of the delay in giving the announcement was to give the army time to pull men from the borders and the far reaches of the provinces. No chances would be taken with the safety of the royal family, or the innocent citizens who could get caught up in whatever fallout there would be. From the – quite unofficial – sound of things, a person wouldn't be able to walk down the street outside without bumping shoulders with Royal Army clad in plain clothes, eyes and ears always open for the first sign of discontent.

He, however, had a deeper purpose. If trouble came from the streets of the city, he would be stealing out of the southern gate, one fourth of a mismatched set. Finaqua would keep them safe enough until the skies over Central City cleared. Whatever would become of him after that, it seemed too far off to tell.

Footsteps approached him, which he ignored. The hallway he occupied had been quiet, but for a few people who'd swept past him on their way to their destinations; none had bothered him, so when a hand touched his shoulder, he turned so abruptly toward the intruder that she – DG, dolled up for dinner – took a step away from him.

"I didn't think you were the type to scare easily," she said, offering up a nervous laugh.

"Wasn't expecting company."

"Should I go?"

He shook his head, and stepped back from the window, offering her a better view of the people gathered on the street beyond the gate. He watched her reflection, instead of her face, as she stood close enough to the glass to fog it with her soft breathing. Her mouth had screwed itself into an uncertain line, her brow furrowed. After a moment, a sigh escaped her, steaming the glass and obscuring her reflection as she leaned her forehead against the heavy drapery framing the window.

"They don't want her to die," she said, her words muffled into the smooth brocade.

"No one does," was the only reply he could muster.

"My sister is..." She trailed off, searching for the right word. "I don't know. Worried, scared. The calmest frantic person I've ever met."

"She'll be fine," he said, though it wasn't in him to be optimistic. Did that make him a liar, then? One glance at her told him his guile wouldn't sway her. The months that had passed since she'd crossed to this side had opened her eyes; she knew nothing in the Outer Zone was easy, or beautiful; nothing came without cost.

He knew not what to say, or what he could give her; there was no comfort to be found anywhere near him. Once, he may have given up his shoulder, taken her by the elbow and drawn her closer, offering her little more than his steadfastness, but now the gulf between them proved too wide to be bridged with such meaningless gestures. He knew he would not see her cry; he'd lost the honoured privilege of witnessing her true emotions. She was the steadfast one now, or at least she pushed herself to be where he was concerned.

"I wish –" She stopped herself short before she'd truly begun, but that one wistful whisper was enough to catch his attention again, to take his mind away from the miseries he'd brought down upon them with his leaving. He waited for her to continue, but she seemed to have lost her nerve.

"You wish what?" he pressed; maybe he wanted nothing more than to listen to her talk, to drown out the harsh voice that played cruel tricks on his self-worth.

DG glanced at him; judging by the uncertainty in her eyes, he guessed she was worried about upsetting him. He could have laughed, if the expression on her face had not been so damned deadly serious; after all, his own pride had been battered and crushed upon his return, placed at her feet as the merest token of recompense – the first of many was his dreaded assumption.

She took a deep breath; he held his. "I wish – I – that we had been able to save the Mystic Man."

He didn't know if it was her words or her pained honesty that did it, but something struck a raw nerve, so suddenly that he grimaced. "This a recent regret, then?" he asked. There was no bitterness in his voice, though his insides writhed with it. The sudden onset of it all left him with little in the way of defences; he didn't know how to react without sending DG's up as well.

"No," she said, "I just was never sure how to bring it up."

"So why now?" He frowned, letting his eyes stray out the window. By morning, the view of the palace grounds would no longer be an unbroken expanse of darkness, and the crowd beyond would grow.

"No choice now. I was always sorry he was gone," she said, as gently as she could, "but I never needed him before."

Cain raised his scarred eyebrow at her, an involuntary response. It was all the encouragement she needed to keep going.

"It was just after the eclipse," she said, "after the Longcoats had surrendered, and after we'd all come to Central City. Tutor, he – well, he wanted to meet with Mother. She insisted that me and my sister be present. He didn't want us there, but he didn't really have a choice if he wanted to say his piece." She gushed out her story as fast as she was able, perhaps worried that if she stopped, even to draw breath, that the words would fail her and she'd never get it out. "He kept apologizing, it was almost all she could get out of his mouth; he didn't listen when she said she'd forgiven him, that he'd helped to save us all."

She glanced up at him, to make sure he was in agreement. He was hard-pressed to do anything but frown, but she seemed undeterred by his impassivity. With a sorry excuse for a deep breath, she went on.

"Only a Child of Light can sit on the throne of the O.Z.," she said, the slowness in which she said the words belying her understanding of them. "And while my mother is still a Daughter of Light –" She shrugged her shoulder. "– she has no power. Ever since – since –" She struggled with facts that he knew all too well himself. Into his mind sprang sepia-toned memories he would never forget, hazy and clouded through a mirror's surface.

"Since she saved you," he said quietly. "What's any of this got to do with the Mystic Man?"

"Tutor thinks he could have seen this coming a mile off," she said, laughing breathily and shaking her head. "Tutor says he knew better than anyone the workings of this world, the magic, the Light and Dark and everything that lingers in between. I probably don't need to tell you that, though, do I?"

He gave her a half-smile. No, she surely didn't. The old man had once absorbed all knowledge that he could get his greying hands on, breathing in every bit of history, lore, as greedily as he would later on inhale the vapours of the Sorceress. A scholar in the truest sense of the word down to the very core of his soul. Yes, he could have predicted the regent's ailment, Cain knew it and Tutor knew it as well; hadn't the mutt said to him that he had failed where old Astor would have succeeded?

"No one knows why she's fading, Cain," she said, her voice softening more as they came to the crux of it all. "Tutor knew she would... but she'd lived so long after – after, well, you know." She shook her head at her own inability to speak aloud the drastic magic that had taken place on her behalf – and given her second life. "He thought she had years left; that's what he told her after the eclipse, but he said he could be wrong, that he 'wasn't Astor' and couldn't ever know what would truly happen."

Cain nodded. "He said the very same thing to me; it's eating him up inside. He knows he failed her again."

DG's eyes snapped toward him, and her spine stiffened. "He didn't _fail_, Cain. He's been trying to find a way to help her since the eclipse, but –" Here she paused and drew in a shaky breath. Perhaps he'd been wrong when he'd assumed he wouldn't see her cry. "The Sorceress purged almost everything; nothing of the Mystic Man's remains, no books or records or anything. What she did keep is dark, dark stuff... like she raided the Restricted Section." She laughed again; he let the comment pass, having already learned long ago not to question her when she came out with something he didn't quite understand despite the plain language she used. Asking usually resulted in long-winded explanations of life on the Other Side, and he wasn't in the mindset to sit through it just then.

"The Mystic Man couldn't have saved your mother, DG," he said gently. "He never had that kind of power."

Sighing heavily, she leaned herself back against the wall, all the fight going out of her until she could barely stand on her own. What was left was tired, and just a wee bit scared, and utterly hopeless. "I know," she said. "Not now."

Cain kept his mouth shut; Tutor's words kept returning to him, deep and solemn. There was no saving Lady Lavender, and from what he was hearing, it was almost certain that there had never been a way. _Glinda_; he had to bite back a snort of contempt even at the thought. Legends as old as the Grey Gale herself; the Outer Zone had been abandoned long ago, protection lost. If forces higher than he could ever imagine truly did exist, the indifference and suffering the O.Z. had endured over the past centuries was more than enough to prove the land was on its own. The Gales were all that remained of that forgotten line.

_That don't bode well at all, does it?_

_

* * *

__Author's Note: I wanted to leave a very heart-felt 'thank you' to those who take the time to leave me a review or comment after reading, despite the length of time between my updates. While the amount of feedback doesn't matter, the fact that you (yes, you) are taking the time to read this story - leaving a comment or not - makes all this worth doing.__ So thank you readers, reviewers, lurkers, whatever you may be. You brighten my dull days!  
_


	7. Writing on the Wall

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

* * *

_When Last We Met: Tension is mounting as the days in Central City stretch on. Cain, knowing his feelings for DG are being used to gain his aid, is unsure of his place in Central City. He awaits conformation that the time has come to take DG, along with Glitch and Raw, out of the city and out of the decreasingly imminent danger's way._

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Writing on the Wall**

_Hurry up, and wait._

Central City was beginning to weigh heavily on Wyatt Cain's spirit. The long days of shadow and filtered sunslight played tricks with his eyes. The constant hum of the urban sprawl pounded inside his skull day and night. There was no rest to be found in the Central Palace. If he slept, he dreamed of the iron suit; he'd awaken comforted by the familiar ache in his chest, and that left him feeling rattled and alone.

He knew he wasn't the only one feeling the pressure of the brick and brass bearing down on him. Raw had taken to hiding, and Cain often wished he were able to do the same, but he did not share the Viewer's empathetic handicap, and couldn't make the same excuses.

Day passed into uneventful day. The stack of reports and inquiries on his desk began to grow; minor incidents of vandalism, arson, assaults on known supporters of the queen. A curfew came into effect in the Central district; through their own form of passive protest, the men and women who stood at the gates day and night in recognition of Lavender refused to obey. Candles burned throughout the night.

_Hurry up, and wait._

Life in the palace began to shift imperceptibly; if Cain hadn't had so much time on his hands, he wouldn't have noticed it. He took to watching, and he wasn't the only one.

Glitch hadn't cracked an abstract insult at him in days. The mutt began to look as haggard and forlorn as he'd been fresh out of the Sorceress' dungeon. DG began to spend less time with her mother, and she gained herself a shiny new escort, a round-faced corporal who didn't know the first thing about keeping up with her, let alone protecting her. There were other changes that caught him by surprise; it took two days to notice he hadn't been seeing anyone resembling a physician or healer on the palace grounds. His request for an audience with Lavender was denied.

_Hurry up, and wait._

Every last detail of their departure was planned, ready to be executed. He hated being on the ready at all times; his nerves seemed to be fraying with each day that passed.

Raw stayed secluded. Glitch forced himself into blissful distraction. And DG... DG still had no idea her friends were waiting for the order to smuggle her out and hide her deep in Lake Country. What else she was thinking, doing, how she was coping, he didn't know. She didn't want him to.

* * *

If he looked back, Cain would always be able to pinpoint the moment he knew – down to his very marrow _knew_ – that he was in over his head. The moment was so insignificant, but with the pristine clarity of hindsight, he would always be surprised with himself that he hadn't recognized then the sign for what it was.

He'd stopped at DG's suite after dinner with the intention of cornering her once again with questions. It didn't occur to him that it was growing late, or that he might not be welcome. All his patience was wearing thin, there was little left for tiptoeing around the tiny forgivenesses she'd granted him. He was beyond caring if he overstepped his bounds.

Her new shadow was stationed in the hall, and Cain gave the kid a once-over glance. "She still awake?" he asked, hating that propriety demanded he curb his actions.

"Yes, sir."

Without waiting, Cain rapped sharply on the door with his knuckles – a mere formality – then entered the room and shut the door behind him before DG had been able to give a response. That he might be interrupting her sketching, or dozing, or weeping, it didn't quite matter.

He found her reading. The tome propped up in her lap looked to weigh a solid four kilos. Now, Cain generally wasn't too fond of old books, their cracked leather or musty pages. After annuals spent in the company of the Mystic Man, he'd come to adopt the opinion that the older and dustier a book was, the more he did not want to know what was written inside.

And the table next to her was stacked high and deep with them.

"You'd better be here for no reason at all," she said; she didn't look up from her book. "I've _retired_ for the evening, and that means I'm not dealing with any more drama until tomorrow morning." These last two words, she said especially firmly.

Cain smiled to himself. He had no doubt that he could coerce her into talking with him; her cloudy mood just meant it would take a bit longer to warm her up.

"Why is the boy in the hall?"

DG looked momentarily puzzled, but realization widened her eyes. "Him? Well –"

He cut her off. "You like company, Kiddo; I haven't ever known you to volunteer to be by yourself." She'd rather have someone there to ignore than be completely alone. The girl before him was so much like himself that it unnerved him.

"We all like our space," she said; the words weren't said nastily, but they were aimed to hurt; he wasn't about to let her deflect his concerns with her petty baiting.

"I'll make sure to give it to you," he said, and, true to his word, he sat down – again, without invitation – close to the door, as far from her as was possible without moving into the other room. "What are you reading?"

"'_A Sometimes Fabricated but Mostly Accurate History of the Outer Zone,_'" she said. She hefted the book out of her lap with a grunt to show him the cover, but the lettering was so faded and angular that he couldn't read it; he was going to have to take her word that she wasn't pulling his leg.

"You skipped dinner."

She looked up. "I didn't, I ate."

"Didn't ask if you'd eaten. I said 'you skipped dinner'."

"You know, they hired someone to watch out for me," she said, "I don't need you keeping tabs, too."

Cain glanced back toward the door. "How's the kid working out, anyway?"

"All right, I guess," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "He said he was a scout in the Resistance. He's nice; a little on the shifty side, but –" She sighed, and shook her head. "I don't need protecting."

"I know that, and I'd wager your sister does, too," he said, being careful not to go riling her up. "But it's putting someone's mind at ease to have you safe."

DG hid the glower on her face behind a curtain of dark hair as she bowed her head over her book again. "Well, as long as _someone's _mind is at ease, right?"

He didn't answer her; she wasn't expecting one. Silence settled over them; as much as he hated to admit it, sitting with her in the quiet of her room was just about the most comfortable and relaxed he'd been in a long while. He didn't care to think back on all the occasions since arriving in Central that he'd sat awkwardly waiting for words that weren't coming, action that never wanted to happen.

DG's focus on her book was intense; he could almost have sworn he could hear the scrape of her eyes over the pages. She'd shut him out completely, and he was all right with that. He didn't need to go coaxing at her when he knew it would only send her scurrying to get out of his line of fire – or preparing for a volley. He wasn't about to give her opportunity to pick his brain; it was the last place he needed anyone, DG especially.

To keep his attention away from her, lest she catch him looking, he let his eyes wander. Little had changed since he'd last been in her sitting room, the night the tension had boiled over; like the mess he'd found that night, everything around him seemed to have quieted some, resuming what one could almost assume as normalcy. Cabinet doors were shut, no longer spilling their contents; the curtains were modestly drawn, despite the emerald-tinted privacy glass; aside from the stack of books next to DG, nothing in the room seemed out of place – except, of course, for the girl herself. She was airy, summer cotton against the elaborately-woven brocade of her rooms.

Cain sighed heavily at himself, closing his eyes in annoyance. _When the hell did you get so lyrical, Wyatt? You been in this palace too long. Get out, and do it soon. _

When he looked up, DG was staring at him. "What's the matter?" she asked, more suspicious than genuinely concerned; he supposed, considering their situation, that was to be expected.

"Not much the matter," he said; who had said lying was as easy as breathing? The guilt he felt near clenched his throat shut. "Just wondering what the mutt was thinking to pile all this reading on you."

"I'm not reading this for Tutor," she said; she glanced down once more at the tome in her lap, as if making a decision. She seemed to come round to it after a few moments, as she let the book fall closed and she set it precariously on top of the others. "I don't think he'd like it if he knew I had them."

Cain frowned; he remembered her giving him a similar answer when he'd caught her practising her shadow magics outside the palace walls. "Where did the books come from, DG?"

"Around," she said vaguely.

He chuckled. "Around where? You were talking not three days ago about a definite shortage in big old books."

"These aren't books that are going to help my mother," she said slowly. "There are just... theology, history. Mythology. All about the past, which the Sorceress never had any interest in. Erase it, remember? These books have... questionable reliability, which is probably why they survived the purge. Anyway, my sources are limited."

"Then where did these come from?" he asked again.

A rueful grin overtook DG's face. "The Seeker, of course."

Cain nodded, trying not to smile himself. It made sense; why would the father, who had come from the Otherworld, not do all in his power to help his daughter understand the world she'd been taken from? In the weeks following the eclipse, DG's thirst for knowledge had gotten her into trouble more than once as she asked the wrong questions to the wrong people; it wasn't just the recent past DG wanted to know about, although there were those who resented her for wanting to dredge up all the pain and suffering of the war annuals.

"Have you managed to learn anything?" he asked; he thought back to the title of the book she'd been reading, and sincerely questioned it.

"Nothing that I couldn't have learned from the fossil of a historian Mother wanted to tutor me," she said, and the smile on her face widened, brightening her eyes. "I don't go much for classroom structure."

Cain shook his head, hiding his smile with his head bowed as he stood out of his chair. "Why doesn't that surprise me, darlin'?" His breathing stopped short at the unbidden endearment tumbled out of his mouth before he could grit his teeth against it. It was easy to brush it off, pretend the word hadn't frozen them both in place, but the moment lingered between them long after they'd moved onto much more important matters.

"So why did you come to see me?" she asked him, her voice softening a bit toward him as he wandered the periphery of her room. His feet wanted to move, to run, but he wasn't about to head out when she was starting to open up to him, even if it was his own asinine mistake that had it happening. "Was it just to scold me for leaving my new shadow in the hallway?"

"If he knew any better, he wouldn't listen to you."

She scowled at him, looking torn between hurt and anger. "So you came to patronise me, then?"

"I already told you why I came," he said. "You missed dinner, I came to check up on you."

"You could've asked anyone where I was. This entire place knows about it the minute I sneeze." Her gaze was relentless and full of expectation; he felt himself chafing under the intensity of her. It vexed him to no end how one girl could affect him so entirely, and it left him wondering about the damage she could cause to him if he ever let her in to have her rampant way. She was young; she loved wholly, without restraint or reservation. She had love enough to destroy them both. Could it really be so foolish of him to so readily court destruction's end?

"I didn't want to ask anyone else," he said matter-of-factly; it sent her eyes skipping away.

She rewarded his honesty with her own. "I didn't feel like sitting through dinner with everyone."

"And why's that?" There was no empathy in his voice, just curiosity; he wanted to know what could distress the kid so much that she couldn't repeat her daily dinner performance, pretending that she was interested in the moment instead of worrying about uncertain future. For her sister and father, for her friends, for perfect strangers.

DG opened her mouth to answer him, but stopped herself short. She paused long with her lips screwed up into a frown; whatever she was thinking back on, reliving it wasn't doing her any favours. It took her a moment to focus her blue eyes on him when she finally decided to look up.

"My mother," she said. He thought she might not say any more, as if he were supposed to immediately and completely understand what those two words encompassed. While he was sure he had a fairly good idea, Wyatt Cain couldn't exactly pride himself on knowing the princess in front of him as well as most would assume. But DG wasn't finished. "She – well, we argued this afternoon. Badly. I – you know what, never mind. It's not important."

"It's important enough," he said; he kept his distance from her, knowing better and begrudging himself for it.

"No," she said, resolute. "What's important is finding a way to help her."

Cain bit his tongue against her naïve intentions; they'd done this once before, hadn't they?

"_Don't go losing your head, and forget about what's really important."_

He shut his eyes tight against the memory, wanting to cut off the heartbroken, misguided response he knew was coming. When he opened his eyes once more, he saw that DG had twisted in her chair to fully face him, her fingers clutching the cushioned backrest tightly enough to anchor her in one place.

"Deege," he said uneasily; the hope in her eyes was unsettling.

"I have to help her," she said, effectively ignoring his grimace, still staring him down with those sky eyes. "She's running out of time."

He looked away from her; an uncomfortable lump was forming in the back of his throat, and he was near to choking trying to swallow it away; talking around it seemed impossible. He didn't want to crush her by demanding she see the despair of her situation; who was he to do that to her?

"She's still fading," she said quietly. "Doctor can't fix her; Viewer can't heal her. Magic could save her; it saved me."

Something inside Cain went cold. "DG, I don't think talking –"

Crossing her arms across her chest, she turned away from him. "Right, right, talking doesn't solve anything. Do you want me to pray to broken gods, too? Or wait for help that doesn't come from powers that abandoned the O.Z. centuries ago?"

"A little praying might not be such a bad idea."

He cursed himself as her shoulders sank and she hugged herself all the tighter. She glanced over her shoulder, her face pale and unreadable.

"How are you supposed to know when things are out of your hands?" she asked him steadily.

"I reckon you just do. Just like being in love, there isn't anyone that can tell you different than what you feel."

The tiniest smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, so fleeting that he might've imagined it. That brief slide of happiness across her lips amidst the anguish that tucked in her cheeks and weighed down her lashes; that sign he should have known as the harbinger of his undoing. There and then gone, leaving him enveloped, clumsy and clueless, in the warmth of its wake.


	8. The Cusp of Obligation

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

* * *

_When Last We Met: Wyatt Cain waits restlessly in Central City, aware that the only thing anchoring him there is loyalty to DG - and guilt for having run out on her six months before. Patterns of life in Central have been shifting imperceptibly, alerting those who are prepared for change that the inevitable approaches._

* * *

**Chapter Eight: The Cusp of Obligation**

It was the middle of the night when the pounding on his door came. As Wyatt bolted awake, it was his first instinct – done while his eyes were still bleary with the cobwebs of slumber – to reach for his pistol; still buttoned into its holster, merely the touch of the smooth, treated leather calmed him enough to force his legs out of the bed. Leaving the revolver holstered and hanging from the bedstead did little for the hostility he felt toward whomever was still banging on his door, seemingly intent on waking the dead along with everyone else in the palace.

Cain wrenched the door open, but his rage dissipated at the sight of Glitch. Though he'd always been remarkably pale, the man on the other side of the door was a shade of white that Cain could not recall ever encountering before – which was saying something, as just before the fall of Central City, he'd busted a den of vapour addicts who hadn't left Lower Central in more than four annuals.

"Remember the thing?" Glitch said, brushing shoulders with Cain as he barged his way into the room. "_The thing_? The thing we've been waiting for?"

Growling, Cain closed the door. "What 'thing'? Is Lavender dead or did some idiot in the Sin District start running his mouth off with the wrong people within earshot?"

Glitch blanched, if it were indeed possible. "You're very crass, do you know that?"

"So you've told me," Cain said. "Since you're not tearing a strip off me for disrespecting Lavender, I can assume she's still alive."

"Hopeless, utterly hopeless!"

"Can I go back to bed then?"

"You most certainly may not," Glitch huffed. "We need to make ready to leave. As soon as you're decent." He motioned vaguely at Cain's bare chest and pyjama bottoms.

Cain raised a curious eyebrow. "Leave?"

"As soon as you're _decent,_" Glitch repeated. He remained silent as Cain went into his adjoining bath to dress. His instincts told him to wear his travel clothes; and so it was the worn, familiar garments that he clad himself in, reminding himself of the morning of his departure from home. Already, it had been twelve days; he felt that he'd left the new house by the creek a lifetime ago, and it seemed that his adventures were just beginning.

He emerged from the bathroom, buttoning his cuffs as he went, to find Glitch closing up the windows.

"What's happened?" Cain asked, moving onto the front of his shirt, buttoning it closer to his throat than he normally cared for.

At Cain's impatient glare, Glitch threw up his hands. "Honestly, why is everyone always under the impression I have my nose into everything that happens around here? I just do as I'm bid, you should think about doing the same."

"I thought you were the one that said you were the smartest man in the Zone."

Glitch laughed. "Hardly. It must have been someone else lauding my many talents. They are so very widely known. I once overheard myself being spoken of in an establishment of questionable repute by an Elonian fellow who had the _most_ –"

That, Cain decided, was more than enough. "I'm going back to bed," he said, and pointed at the door. "Fill me in on everything at breakfast, would you?"

"Well, it's no wonder that DG is so bent out of shape about you," Glitch said, his arms crossed impatiently. "What is it that they say about leading a horse to water?" The added smug grin was overkill.

Cain was forced to bite down hard on the tip of his tongue to stop the slur of curses that wanted to come tearing out of his mouth. "Your insights are beginning to bother me," he said instead. He decided that a drastic change in subject was long overdue. "I'm not walking into this blind."

Glitch rolled his eyes. "Were you always this paranoid, Wyatt?"

"Being locked in a lunchbox for near a decade will do that to you. Now what happened?" He settled his stance, making it quite obvious even in the dim light that he wasn't about to move anywhere until he got the answers he wanted. Glitch, for his part, held out for as long as his patience lasted, grimly viewing the imposing figure in front of him as – well, Cain wasn't all too sure; a deterrent, an annoyance, perhaps. No more than two minutes passed before Glitch heaved a sigh of surrender.

"There was an _incident_ at the gate this evening," he said finally.

"What kind of incident?"

"A group of men got into a confrontation with the guards on shift. The details are a little sketchy, but I've heard they were recognized as having served under the Sorceress directly."

Cain felt a familiar clench inside his chest. _Longcoats. _If there was one consolation to be had, it was that Zero was under lock and key, about as far from the conflict as possible. When it came to her soldiers, the long, long arm of the Sorceress, there were those who had surrendered after the siege on the tower, and those who had not. There were those who stayed loyal to Azkadellia and who now worked to restore the O.Z. as she did, and those who fought against it.

"How many of those deserters do you figure have joined up with the New Resistance, then?" Cain grit his teeth at the thought of former Longcoats swelling the ranks of those who opposed Azkadellia's renewed rule; men who didn't give a damn about the Zone, plotting alongside the rebels simply to see her suffer.

Glitch seemed not to want to give it a thought; if Cain guessed right, then he'd already worked it out in his reassembled brain a long time ago, and cared not to revisit his answer. "Until tonight, it's been mostly speculation about the numbers," he said instead. "If it weren't for scouts like your son, we'd have gathered virtually no intelligence at all."

Cain's breath caught, an involuntary reaction that spoke too loudly of his vulnerability. "Jeb?"

Glitch had the decency to look horrified at his mistake; he faced Cain with all the timidity of a spooked animal. "Did I say _your_ son? I meant –"

Sighing deeply, Cain shook his head, and held up a hand before his friend began stuttering. "It shouldn't surprise me that my boy's got secrets of his own," he said, knowing no one was at fault but himself for being caught off-guard. He was just about done with all the smoke and mirrors. "There anything else you want to tell me, or do you like the taste of your own shoe leather?"

Glitch smiled. "The only benefit is that talking around one's own foot is rather difficult, therefore limiting further errs in speech." There was a definite drip of sarcasm to the words.

"Funny part is you keep trying any way." While Glitch puffed up proudly, Cain could only feel a twinge of annoyance at how far they'd strayed from the trouble at hand. "Now I don't see how a scuffle at the gate is reason enough to drag me out of bed. What went on? With all the people out there –"

"Decent tactical cover; a crowd full of innocent people, and supporters of Lavender besides," Glitch said.

Cain let his head hang, a hand going to his face to cover his eyes. "Was anyone hurt?"

"One of our men was beaten up pretty bad. There were no arrests made; the army has sent their scouts out to find out what they can, but they aren't going to find the culprits once the undercity has swallowed them up. You know that as well as anyone."

"So we smuggle DG out in the middle of the night," Cain muttered; he squeezed his eyes shut, still blocking out all light with his hand. In the darkness behind his eyelids seemed the only place he would ever find peace. "I don't know, Glitch, this all seems a bit hasty to me."

"Lavender has given the order, and Azkadellia upholds it. We have to take her away from here, and she's got no choice but to come with us," he said; he gave a short, disbelieving laugh. "I don't think she'll put up much of a fight."

Cain could have smiled. If there was one assiduous change that had come to affect DG, it was that she always, without fail, listened to her sister.

* * *

The stables were located along the northern perimeter of the palace grounds, far placed from the decorative gardens that hugged the southeast section of the gate, farther still from the kitchen gardens on the southwest wall. It was here that she found him. Cain had offered to oversee the packing of the horses, not for the reprieve of Glitch's overtaxed brain but to get as far from the palace as possible while still being where he needed to be. No doubt that it was from the headcase that DG had learned to look for him.

"I was hoping I wouldn't find you here," she said, disappointment clear.

"Then why'd you come lookin'?"

She stopped short; he was standing at the end of the long, cobblestone drive-bay, just inside the wide-open doors. It was near-dark, but there was no dawn in Central City, never had been; the city's interior glow filtered down enough to see marginally well. He was watching two stable-hands saddle and pack their horses, readying them to be transported by trailer to the woods outside the city, as far as vehicle transport could safely take them.

Lingering in the doorway, she didn't turn her head to look at him, but watched the two hands pet and pamper the horses they were burdening. "There is a strange woman in my room right now packing up everything I own," DG said. "Or there was. She and I had words when she tried to touch my sketchpads."

Cain cast a sidelong glance at her, certain she wouldn't make eye contact with him; sure enough, she was too mesmerised by the lamplight catching on the polished saddles, the jingle of clasps and buckles. He kept his mouth shut, though he sure as hell hoped she exaggerated when she said _everything_.

"I went to see my sister," she said, breaking into his thoughts, "to find out who the old bat was."

Cain braced himself. "And?"

"Az, she... she wants me to go to Finaqua." She spat the words from the back of her throat like sallow bile. "_That's_ why you're here, isn't it?"

He weighted his answer carefully, trying to decide on the safest route; there was making her mad, and then there was hurting her, and then there was letting her down.

"I'm here," he said, "because our friend Ambrose sent me a letter, saying you could use a friend or two, considering. It was mentioned that things could come down to this, much as it pains me to admit that it has. It's all been out of my hands since I got here." He glanced over again to see her standing straight and stiff, her back against the damp early summer air, her front bathed in the soft yellow light spilling out of the stable doors.

"I can't leave my mother," she said, her only excuse that would stand up against obligation.

"The way I understand things, it's your mother's order, not your sister's." He sighed, knowing in his heart that somewhere along the way, he was going to regret telling her. Still. "Just until things calm down around here. If it puts her mind at ease, remember?"

"What about _my_ mind?" she asked , turning her eyes, her entire body, toward him. "No one seems to be wanting to put me at ease, do they? You've been here two weeks, and never once said, 'just a heads up, the rebels might drive us south'. I think that borders on _lying_ to me!"

"No one lied to you. Glitch and the furball have been under the impression you've got enough on your plate as is."

At the far end of the drive-bay, the two stable-hands kept halting their work with obvious pauses, straining to hear. Rolling his eyes, Cain moved away from the wall, and angled himself so as to block the princess from their view. He could do little about the rising edge in her voice, worried more about being overheard than about the tongue-lashing he was about to receive.

"What happened that's bad enough to come to _this_?" she asked; he could see her disappointment showing through the cracks in her hardened exterior; she wasn't as invulnerable as she tried to be.

"Little loose-lipped, zipperless bird told me there was a tussle at the gate tonight, between security and men they believe are part of the New Resistance," he said, keeping his voice low with the presence of the hands ever on his mind. He watched DG's face for signs of – well, anything, really. Any reaction at all. She only stared at him, waiting for him to continue, never believing that something so small could be shaking up her closed-in world. "It's enough to get your mother and your sister agitated, and it's got us hauled out of our beds at – Glinda's sake, I don't even know what time it is."

"It's a quarter to four," she said automatically. "Did you say 'Glinda'?"

He grimaced, caught. "It's just an expression, kid."

"I can tell that much. I just – I've heard that name before."

"I've no doubt," he said, "with the books you've been reading." _'Sometimes Fabricated but Mostly Accurate', _indeed.

"Who is she?"

Wyatt didn't answer right away, how could he? He was in no position to start giving the kid lessons in folk legends. Much to his dismay, she took his silence as cause to start ribbing him. He endured it for seconds only before holding up his hand and near growling at her. "This is the kind of thing you should be asking the mutt about, not me, Princess." He'd meant for that to be the end of it, with a tone of finality and a bite to the last; he should have remembered who he was dealing with.

"I thought we'd covered Tutor's unwillingness to teach me anything but magic," she said, frowning. "Even then, it's more coaching than teaching; it's not exactly swish and flick. Besides, _you_ brought it up. So, who is –"

"Old stories to put children to bed with," he said shortly, "and not worth the time it would take to tell them."

"Humour me. Who is she?"

He looked over her face once, unhappily noting the glimmer of hope – of _something_ – in her eyes, and how easy and natural it could be to _humour _her if he just let it be. It wasn't exactly encouraging, knowing how much she'd take if he offered her even the slightest inch. _Still_. "Not _is_. Maybe not even _was. _At best, the divine, at worst, a witch. Long gone by your family's time." He glanced over his shoulder, seeing the boys far down the drive-bay taking their sweet time packing up the horses, not knowing the urgency – or maybe, like him, not _seeing_ it. He'd best move on before the questions started again. "Where'd you say the new kid was?"

"Didn't. He's around."

He smiled at her vagueness. _Around_ was a very broad term. "How'd you manage to lose him, then?" he asked.

"I didn't; he followed me down here. I guarantee he's around here – ish," she said.

Cain raised an eyebrow. "Is he."

She finally turned her face to him, a crinkle to her nose. "Are you surprised there is someone who can pull off discreet better than you?"

He snorted. "You got some nerve, kid, I'll give you that much."

"Hardly," she said with a roll of her eyes; she reached up on tiptoes to glance over his shoulder, watching the boys still at work. "If I had the nerve, would they still be shipping me off to Finaqua?"

"Wouldn't exactly call it being _shipped off_."

She froze. "Then what would you call it?"

Cain chuckled quietly to himself; nope, he wasn't gonna fall for that, no matter if she were straightening slowly to her full, albeit diminutive, height, no matter if she turned her prairie-sky eyes on him to cut him straight to the quick. "Deege, there always comes a time when we've got to put our heads down, take orders just for the sake of it."

"You said you weren't here to take orders."

He smirked. "We aren't talkin' about me, though, are we?"

"No surprise there."

To wipe the unimpressed pout from her face, he tried to be honest. "No one's orders but yours," he said, "I already told you that. And you still haven't told me to leave."

DG shifted uncomfortably, the soft soles of her trainers scuffing quietly against the dirt. "I think after keeping these secrets from me since you got here, you deserve being stuck here."

"Oh, really." He raised an eyebrow. "Well, they weren't my secrets to tell."

She nodded, quite fetching in all her seriousness. "Not to mention leaving me the way you did, which was downright dirty and mean."

She spoke with cold acceptance, and he considered himself chastened, which didn't bring the relief that atonement would – if and when he ever achieved it. He watched her until she became self-aware, and even under the artificial lights of the palace grounds, and the false starlight carried down from the buildings above, he saw her blush.

"Brainless, _heartless_ coward," she mumbled, turning away so that he'd never know if she were smiling or frowning, if her cheeks stayed heated or if the colour faded as quickly as it'd come.

"Begging your pardon," he said, wanting to cut off any more outcries against his character before she got loud enough for the eavesdropping stable-hands to get an earful. "But, speaking of my due punishment, you gonna be ready to ride today?"

Tight-faced, she nodded. "I've been daydreaming about taking off for the last two months," she mumbled monotonously low, so he wondered if he'd heard her right. "I should be excited, but..." She paused, shrugged her shoulders. "I hate this."

He set his jaw firmly against the twinge of sorrow in her voice, seeing more than he cared to in her deep frown, the downward curve of her shoulder; something running through her mind was bogging down her spirit. There was damn little he could do about it, didn't have the time to fret over it, and knew precious little what to say to her besides. Sighing, he nodded his chin toward the palace, reached out to touch her elbow lightly.

"We'd best try meet up with the others," he said, not letting his touch linger. She watched his hand intently as it fell back to his side. "And we'll see what we can do about that woman going through your stuff. We need to travel light and you need to pack your sketchbooks. Think we can make it through this together, kiddo?"


	9. On the Wind

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**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

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_When Last We Met: After two weeks of waiting, a chance incident with the New Resistance sends Cain reluctantly following Glitch, DG, and Raw south to Finaqua. Sent by Lavender to keep DG safe from the rebels that would rally behind her, there is little the group can do but follow the orders they have yet to understand._

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**Chapter Nine: On The Wind**

The pre-dawn streets of Central City were empty, lifeless; whatever repercussions that would come from the night's altercation between the rebels and the royalists at the gates of the palace, they would not remain behind to witness. Once again, Cain was found to be smuggling not only himself, but those in his charge, out of the city like common thieves. This... this felt like running, and it didn't sit well with him.

Truth be told, Wyatt Cain was growing a little tired of running.

It unsettled him to no end that both Glitch and DG seemed to have lost their voices. Cain had been counting on their unique rhythms of banter to drone out his own doubting thoughts. Instead, he was left to them as he and the others were driven through the cobblestone streets. As a rule, Cain hated automobiles; his time in the iron suit had done little to change that fact. Why anyone wanted to be pressed into such close quarters with another person – or four – was too far beyond him. He kept his attention out the window, forcing himself to stare past his own reflection to see the streets and shop-fronts, lampposts and stone stoops, closed doors and iron grates and unforgiving neon light. The colours of the Gales strung up like festival banners, empty promises to a disgruntled populace.

At arms length away on the bench seat sat DG, doing as he did, watching nothing to avoid what was around her. As separated as they were, he could feel the seat shaking under the relentless jostling of her leg. Across, Glitch and Raw sat apart, one tugging at loose threads on his coat and one cringing amid the emotional duress saturating the air. It was discomfort at the most base level, and it was the longest drive of Wyatt's life.

His last view of the city was a little girl, dirty and ragged, pulling a bundle of newspapers off the back of a truck; it left him with an odd sense of familiarity, the girl and the stack of newsprint half as big as she, like he'd seen her and her twine and paper burden before. However, she was all but forgotten as the car passed through the arch; he was quite abruptly washed in the pale white light of dawn that bathed the plain outside the city walls.

Wyatt smiled to himself. A clear day, he couldn't ask for better – not that he'd taken to counting his blessings of late, no. He could do without the quiet, though, that much was dead certain.

By the time they four were out of the city, into the woods, saddled and separated from the escort, the second sun was peeping over the horizon to the west. Glitch had taken to wondering aloud how far the Brick Route would carry them before dark, and DG had made a fuss about rearranging her saddlebags to her own liking.

Cain, ignoring the two of them equally, turned to Raw. It did his heart good to see the Viewer as calm and serene as he was, breathing deep and smiling as if nothing were wrong behind them and it was nothing but rainbows ahead. No, rainbows would mean they were out of the storm, and Wyatt couldn't bring himself to be that optimistic.

Raw caught him watching. "Good day to walk the road," he said.

Cain grunted non-committally. "Hope to do a bit more than walk. Would rather this didn't take the better part of two days. We can be there by tonight if we push."

Still smiling in his enigmatic way, the Viewer shook his head. "Won't see lakes tonight. Tomorrow."

Though he heartily wanted to disagree with Raw, Cain knew better than to contest the aggravatingly knowing tone with which his friend spoke. Grumbling into his saddle blanket, he made adjustments that didn't need making until the others were mounted and ready to set off. There was a distinct lack of enthusiasm, though it wasn't unexpected. He'd never seen DG so glum, and he'd spent an increasing amount of time with her over the past fortnight. Glitch had taken to glancing nervously over his shoulder, though their drop-off point on a secluded section of southern Brick Route could almost ensure no chance company; Glitch had planned the entire excursion himself, why he was so agitated, Cain didn't have the energy to work out.

As tight-lipped and ashen-faced as they'd left the Central palace, they began their jaunt south. The low clatter of slow-moving horseshoes on ancient brick was the only sound that accompanied them. It was still early in the summer, and the wind had not yet decided how much it wanted to bluster; a gust would fiercely rustle up the branches over his head one moment and all movement would descend into eerie silence the next. Despite an unpredictable breeze, the suns were warm when they finally broke over the trees, the bright promise of an even warmer afternoon.

Still, the sense of peace didn't mean he could let his mind wander; he couldn't think about, say, the barn roof that wasn't getting shingled, or the copper buckle on the back of DG's coat that kept winking at him in the sunslight. He couldn't wonder what tune it was that Glitch had been humming for twenty straight minutes, or where in the Zone his son could be, or what was happening in Central. The minds of the others were probably occupied with exactly these quandaries – minus the worry over Jeb, of course – so it didn't do him any good to mull over them as well. He tried to keep his mind focused on the route before them, the upcoming Papay lands, and the fact that his mount baulked every time the road got boggy. These were his new worries, and he knew he should learn them well.

The first hour saw them put good distance behind, though the second was slower. Conversation trickled, and the heaviness in the air grew until even Raw was trying to engage DG in some semblance of socialising; just as Wyatt and Glitch had, Raw came up empty, and eventually fell back into his own contemplative silence. If she was pouting or ignoring them, tongue-tied with worry or exhaustion, or still smarting over this abhorrent exile, she wasn't about to let them know.

Mid-morning saw temperatures rise, and the breeze settled into consistency. A little more than a span's reach from the Fields of the Papay, Cain called for a break to rest the horses.

He tried to swallow a smile as he dismounted, listening to DG and Glitch grumble about the ache starting in their respective backsides. It was the most he'd heard out of the two of them since the hours before leaving the city.

"We'll take it slow and easy across the fields," he said for the benefit of the others. "We'll make up whatever lost time once we're out."

DG frowned at him. "Did the Papay post a speed limit on the Brick Route?"

This time, he did nothing to hide his smile, though he had enough common sense to keep himself from chuckling at her. "People who go about disrespecting the fields usually find a chunk missing outta their ankle before they've got time to reconsider."

Having ample experience with the Papay, DG swallowed hard and didn't argue the point any further.

The brutal, honest truth – though he wasn't about to share it with his companions – was that they had to play it cautious; Papay in general were unpredictable at best, and though the packs closer to home in the northeast expanse took no notice of human presence these days (for the most part), he didn't know how territorial the runners in the south were likely to be. With any luck – not that he'd ever had much to brag about, mind you – the scouts would recognise DG and she'd be left to pass peacefully. In the event they were chased down by ravenous runners, he'd rather have a well-rested horse. The walk through the fields was going to eat up a lot of sunslight, but they could make it up when they reached the safety of the far side.

The thought of entering the Fields of the Papay didn't seem to be disturbing anyone too greatly; that alone gave Cain reason to pause and watch them all a little more closely. If there was trepidation at all, he didn't see it. Were Glitch and DG still so caught up in what they'd left in Central City that the dangers of the road ahead didn't concern them in the least?

Lavender, he knew, weighed heavier on their minds than the averred rebel threat that had sent them on their unmerry way. Even the threat of gnashing teeth and fierce claws did nothing to jar them into reality.

It was going to be a long, lonely afternoon.

* * *

The Fields of the Papay stretched on into forever. The morning fog had all but dissipated, leaving naught but clarity for all the eye could see. The orchards themselves were nearing the end of their blooming, and the ground at the abrupt edge of the field was scattered with delicate white petals.

On the hill overlooking the foaming sea of blossoming branches, the group stopped to gather their bearings.

Cain wasn't about the be lulled into a false sense of idyllic peace for all the petal fall, the sound like snow, like dry paper confetti. The fruit had yet to set, the harvest was undetermined. He and his charges would not be safe until they reached the far side and the dark, tangled forest beyond. To think that the damnable forest and unforgiving bog could be considered safe.

DG was notably distracted, and his gut knotted at the thought of yet another dreamy saunter through Papay hunting grounds. While the others were mounting, he hung back to help her, offering up a hand. She stared at it, as if it could grow teeth and bite her any moment.

"You still with us?" he said, lifting his chin so that she might have a better view of his face from under the brim of his hat.

She gave him a practised smile. He could recognise them almost instantly now. Rare, it was, to work a real smile out of her.

"'Course I am, where else am I going to be?"

He smirked, and retracted his hand. He stepped around her, forcing her to turn to keep watching him, as he instead stood shoulder to shoulder with her horse; he took the reins in hand to keep the mare steady so DG could mount. Still, however, the girl made no move, keeping a fair amount of suspicious gaze on him.

"I could've sworn we left most of you behind in Central City."

She said nothing, but crossed her arms over her chest defensively, her biggest tell.

"Kiddo, I know how worried you are about your mother," he began; he sighed and pressed his tongue against his teeth as he realised he didn't quite know where to go from there. He couldn't sugar-coat the truth, nor could he avoid the ugly or the frightening. He knew she didn't need reminding, that she knew exactly what was at stake. "We need you here with us, not fretting over something you can't do nothin' about."

DG inhaled sharply, remained silent. Her eyes lowered to the ground, keeping tabs on every blade and shoot underfoot.

"I need your eyes and ears open," he said. "The going might be slow but you're gonna have to be alert for every minute of it. You don't dismount, not for anything; I don't care if a kid drops out of the trees in front of you, you stay on your horse." He tightened his grip on the reins. "Now saddle up, darlin'."

She complied easily, but her arms and legs were shaking as she pulled herself up into her saddle. "How long will it take?" she asked, distracting him with her question; as he looked toward the orchard below them, out of the corner of his eye he caught her swiping at her cheeks.

"Should be outta there by mid- to late-afternoon. Depends on what we run into."

"Or what runs into us."

He looked up at her and smiled, his hand moving up to her leg to give it a comforting squeeze before he'd even realised it was the sort of gesture he was better off avoiding. His hand rested just above her knee a second too long; in that briefest instant, she caught his eyes and he was near rendered senseless with the force and depth of her confusion. Was he torn by the hurt he found, or shamed by that dying glimmer of hopefulness? He didn't know. Nor could he figure out why it took him so damn long to move his hand and walk away.

Glitch and Raw, in good form, pretended to have been otherwise occupied through the entire thing, though Cain knew – as surely as he knew the Papay had already taken notice of their party on the hill – that they'd greedily witnessed the whole of it. There was no explaining away the knowing smiles, the dopey shaking of heads. By the time he was mounted, he was growing increasingly agitated with his circumstances, and he left the others behind to follow him or not as he led his mount down the gentle, loose slope into the fields.

As soon as he'd passed through the first row of trees, weaving onto the broad avenue the Brick Route cut through the orchard, it was if the rest of the world had disappeared beyond the canopy of spreading branches and pink-tinged blossoms. The orchard floor, carpeted in felled petals, muffled the clatter of their horses. If the quiet of the morning had troubled him, this newer quiet eased him, seeped into his skin and –

He gave his head a rough shake. No doubt the magic of the fields, to safeguard the trees against predation. Not that such natural defences helped when the land sickened and died. But now, for all it mattered, they were surrounded by an abundance of light and life. The thin branches that reached over his head were verdant and utterly dripping with flowers; as far back as he could remember, he'd never seen the branches droop so low before the fruit had started to plump and ripen. It was as if the land was trying to give recompense for the annuals of barren soil and empty branches.

Still, the fields were not without their caretakers, the grangers turned hunters; ornery, wild, and impossibly fast. As the minutes melted into the first hour, the far-off barks of the Papay stayed at a steady, albeit wearying, distance, though he caught more movement at his periphery than made him feel altogether secure. They came across no traces of the beasts themselves, no snared prey, no puddles of oozing bile. Just the calls of the runners, always a little too close for comfort, and the feeling of cautious, watchful eyes ever on his back.

The suns passed overhead, their paths never meeting in the sky. Was he supposed to feel as relieved as he did, to see the twins grow a little farther and farther apart each day? After his long annuals of imprisonment, he could honestly say he might die without the sunslight; just the mere two weeks in Central had left him starved for their pure, unfiltered light. He could almost hear a whisper of agreement from the fields as the breeze kicked up the branches around him, the rush of leaf, twig, and petal deafening. Caught in a flurry of falling white and pink, he reined his horse to a halt, and turned in his saddle to watch the others' reactions to the sweet-smelling gale.

Glitch was preoccupied in a never-ending battle to brush his lapels clean; Raw's face was split into such a grin that his white fangs glinted in the sunslight, his head thrown back as petals caught in his beard. And then... and then there was DG, pale and glancing up at the canopy nervously, surrounded by blossoms and knowing only thorns.

"This doesn't feel right," she said, loud enough to be audible over the sway and creak of branches.

Glitch laughed at her. "This is nothing short of amazing," he said, looking around appreciatively at his friends covered in velvety specks of white. He seemed to have given up his quest to stay clean. "Do you know how long it's been since the last petal fall, DG? Do you know how blessed we are to see this?" He was positively giddy.

DG, however, was far from convinced. Despite himself, Cain had to agree with her.

"I think 'blessed' might be stretchin' it a bit too far, Glitch."

"Glitch right," Raw interjected.

"No, that's not what I mean," DG said, shaking her curls dappled with petals in stark contrast. Somewhere between Central City and where they now stood, she'd let her hair down, more like herself with the wild cascade of dark locks reaching halfway down her back. Cain had never found it easy to talk with her when she was dolled up like the lady of high standing she was; as herself, just a girl, loose hair and scarf untied, gloves lost along the road, his footing felt surer.

Cain sighed, his gaze set on the princess. "What d'you mean, DG?"

Instead of responding, she drew in her bottom lip and worried it with her teeth. Now both Glitch and Raw watched her as well, seeking the answers she refused to give in her face, and finding only frown and furrow and faithlessness. To Cain, it was as if she were biting her lip only to stop the slew of questions that wanted to come tearing out. She could drill them until her throat was hoarse, but it wouldn't do any good, and sure as the suns, she knew it.

There was a bark then, close enough to bristle. After it, another sound broke, the harsh, piercing call of a raptor closer still, unseen over their heads; warnings, damn it, why had they stopped?

"Enough of this Sunday amblin'. We can talk on this later," he said, eyes levelled on the kid, wanting her to know he meant what he said. He knew there was nothing he could say to take the dazed, sorrowful veil from her face, but he'd never get her moving if she didn't have the motivation. This wasn't searching, this was running. "Once dark comes, we'll talk."


	10. Fireside

******Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

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_When Last We Met: On the Route to Finaqua, leaving the threat of the New Resistance and a dying Lady Lavender behind in Central City, Cain is attempting to maintain his tenuous grip on DG's trust. With no news, only promises, the four heroes continue south._

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**Chapter Ten: Fireside**

The way Cain remembered things, nightfall in the O.Z. had a way of taking its sweet time, especially in early summer. By the time the group had left the orderly rows of the orchards behind them, the afternoon light was beginning to take on a faded, hazy quality. Even after they'd been swallowed up by the shadows of the forest beyond the Fields of the Papay, the shafts of sunslight breaking through the thick canopy of broad leaves were pale and filtered through with dust and insects.

Cain pushed them until the temperature began to shift, an almost imperceptible nip to the air as the suns sank lower in a sky that he couldn't see. While he was certain that Glitch was carrying a timepiece, he wasn't about to ask after it; though he tried his best to gauge the day's progress from his last glimpse of the suns before entering the woods, it was all guesswork, and shoddy at that. When he took them off the road, far enough that the flames of a small fire would go unnoticed, it was probably much earlier in the evening than he'd intended, but then again, he hadn't really intended on stopping for the night in the first place.

"Shouldn't we be making for the Crack? Put it behind us before dark?" Glitch asked, with no real interest; he was the first one dismounted when Cain had found a spot deemed worthy enough to spend the night.

"Not unless you wanna be explaining to Route Patrol what we're doing crossin' the gorge this late," Cain said, alighting carefully to favour his aching legs. "With the princess, no less."

DG, from the perch of her saddle, looked confused. "They don't know we're coming?"

"Route Patrol don't," he said, "though they're expectin' us down south."

_'Least I hope they are_, he thought, but he kept such darknesses to himself. Truth was he didn't know much of anything at all when it came to what was ahead of them and what they'd left behind. Were the only people aware of their departure Azkadellia and DG's parents? Or was the entire palace of Finaqua awaiting them, turning down sheets and opening windows to bright southern sunslight, eager to have their saviour princess come to stay? In any event, there wasn't much could be done but keep heading as they had been, and worry about Route Patrol – and the Finaqua guard – when they came to it.

With the avoidance of conversation still at the fore, they stumbled awkwardly through their first evening together. Cain built a fire; darkness fell; supper, stories, silence.

The clearing in which they rested was well-protected by the ancient, sleeping trees; beyond the canopy, he was certain the stars blazed on. The fire popped and snapped, sending sparks flying skyward in poor imitation, the glow dying quickly in the cold. The quiet of the day seemed to be finally, slowly, loosening its grip on their spirits. There was still very little to say, but the small noises of companionship – mumbled thanks, scattered words, sighs and laughter – were enough to help Cain relax. He even managed to forget, for a few short minutes, that he was supposed to be keeping a close eye on DG.

He kept expecting her to start blurting out questions. It wasn't like her to sit and chew her lip – he could see the slight press of her teeth even in the weak firelight – not when he knew there were things on her mind needed talking over. That she'd learned to curb her curiosity wasn't something that left him feeling wholly secure in his understanding of her; if she couldn't ask, then she wouldn't tell what she was thinking when the time came, and that was usually the time he regretted not tying a bell 'round her neck.

Raw was having a hard time keeping his attention off DG, as well; every sideways glance he stole at her was accompanied by a frown, or slow head shake. If Cain could feel the tension radiating off the kid, he sure as hell didn't envy the Viewer the gift of heartsight, no sir. Every time DG restlessly shifted her position, her gaze never leaving the flames at the centre of the circle they created, he watched as Raw squirmed just as uncomfortably.

Honestly, he didn't want to interfere. If she wasn't going to speak up, he was more than prepared to just let her stew. Better to let her know everything once they were safe in Finaqua; he was determined that she had to know, because he'd rather have a palace full of guards at his back, ready to keep her where she was supposed to be if any flighty ideas suddenly planted themselves in her brain. Then again, his first night back in Central had seen her escape the palace security fences by turning herself to shadow.

Maybe he was just a plain, old coward; too worried about shielding her from what would only hurt. It was their first three days all over again, swallowing back the knowledge that he'd been tailing a Gale, a princess, and a dead one at that. There'd been no time, no words, not even the sense of obligation, least not to _her_, just the word he'd given, that had been his only truth then. She was just a kid on a mission, not to save the O.Z. but to find her mother, a babe in the woods and she wasn't his problem – until she was.

That was all behind them; a lifetime behind, felt like, though he wasn't sure his companions shared this sentiment. As he glanced at the others around the fire, more at ease than he'd seen any of them since they'd reunited, he realised that, despite the unnecessary situation he'd found himself in, he was happier now than he'd been since...

Huh.

Well then, wasn't that something.

He smirked at his own inability to remember the last time he'd felt this kind of peace, and it was then that he caught DG watching him, her face pale and strange in the firelight. He shifted his position until he was sitting atop the deeply-bedded rock he'd been using as a backrest; he took his hat off, placing it on the forest floor beside him. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and only then did he look DG in the eye. She'd watched his every purposeful movement, but when his eyes met with hers, she sat up straighter, ready under fire. And while he had caught her attention, she drew the attention of the others; while she watched him, they watched her.

Enough of this dancing around inevitability. As far as he saw it, the sooner he knew what was flying through that mind of hers, the better.

"So, do you wanna tell us what exactly you were going on about this afternoon?" he asked, giving her a chance. "You said in the fields that something wasn't right."

The rigidity went out of her spine, and she slumped a little, hesitant to answer.

Glitch spoke up. "The fields are just creepy. Puts a chill in the heart, and those runners were getting close! Isn't that right, DG?" He thought he was coming to her rescue.

"Always pass through same field," Raw said. "Never changes."

"No, it is different," DG said, though she didn't elaborate. "That's not what I meant. The fields are – the fields are fine, okay?"

"You could've fooled me," said Glitch, unconvinced.

Cain snorted despite himself. "That ain't hard."

"DG not lying," Raw said; his face was as solemn as it came. "Fields are – are _right."_ It wasn't often that Cain saw the Viewer struggle with human language, a faltered search for the word to describe feelings that ran deeper and more pure than Cain could ever hope to experience.

"Well, if it wasn't the fields that had you spooked, what was it?" Cain asked. He watched for her reaction carefully, but she gave no discernible response; the same unremarkable expression, detachment perfected.

"It _was_ the fields, but it was something else, too," she said. "I've still got half a mind to turn around and go back to Central City, all right? I don't want to be out here, I want to be at home."

Cain's answer was quick, and poorly phrased. "You aren't the only one, kiddo."

"Then why are we out here?" It was an honest question, a bare-laid and brutal question.

"Your mother just wants you kept safe, DG," Glitch said, trying to keep his voice light, to protect her from the idle threat and the possibility that this was all just the deathbed whim of a fallen queen, a failed mother.

"That's –" Sharply, she cut herself off; she went through the bitter motions of swallowing back the blackness on her tongue. She tapped her hands on the tops of her legs as she took a moment to sum up her thoughts. "That's not good enough," she said instead. "I'm safer where Az is, we're safest together." It was gospel to her, Cain could read it in her eyes, that stone-cold belief she'd been fed since infancy. Even after fifteen annuals as someone else, coming back to the Zone she'd built up from this cornerstone, perhaps the only remnant of her 'true' life.

"Your mother – and Azkadellia, I suppose, in her way – feel differently," Glitch said; there was a meekness to his voice, and Cain couldn't discern why that would be until suddenly DG was on her feet and replanting herself at Glitch's side, settled down on her knees close to the fire right before his eyes, effectively making herself the only thing the poor bastard could see.

"Okay, you know how this is going to go," DG said, all blue eyes and brass.

Glitch leaned back slightly; his own eyes widened, but for fear or surprise, there was no telling. "I –"

"I'm not safer in Finaqua," she said. "They want me out of Central City."

"Well –" Glitch's eyes flicked to Cain. For his part, Cain tried his best not to roll his own in return. This was the man who had withstood the Sorceress' interrogation so completely that she'd had to remove his brain to get what she wanted?

"Why do they want me out of Central City?" she asked him, slow and careful. Glitch remained silent, his eyes on hers now and never breaking, falling into the lessons of Ambrose, Cain supposed. DG leaned in closer, her profile disappearing from his vision as her hair fell over her shoulders. "Glitch, what's going to happen in Finaqua?"

"Nothing." The word was clipped, all truth and even DG knew it.

Raw stood, and moved to take a step closer to DG. He sensed something, something dangerous and worthy of putting himself in the way. DG, without turning, put a hand out to stop him, and he stalled in his tracks. From the edge of the campsite, forgotten by all of them, Cain watched. He was impressed with the girl, he couldn't deny it, and so he waited to put an end to it.

"Nothing," DG repeated, and she shook her head. "Then why can't I be in Central City? So there was a fight, I don't see –"

"It wasn't just a fight," Glitch said, sounding braver than he looked. "The men who instigated – well, the perpetrators were said to be – Great Gale, DG, don't you see –"

"Longcoats," Raw said quietly.

"I know that," she said, "Mr. Cain told me this morning before we left."

"I did," Cain spoke, giving Glitch a brief nod when he shot an unimpressed look across the fire.

With a sigh, Glitch gave up all pretence of secrecy; his shoulders slumped, and he let his head hang for a moment, perhaps to better allow him to gather his thoughts. Confident that she was now going to receive her answers, DG sat back and waited patiently. It was nothing short of amazing, how easily she could turn it on and off.

"There's no knowing how many recruits the resistance has seen," Glitch said after long moments of nothing but the whispering fire to fill the air. "They're deep underground, you have to understand, and more widespread across the realms than I care to imagine. Nowhere near the numbers of the former resistance, but it's still been enough to keep us awake at night."

"How many nights," DG wondered aloud, and Cain could still hear the acute sting in her voice, the hurt at being left in the dark.

"The point is," Glitch said, "that there's no knowing what their next move is going to be."

DG shook her head, refusing to believe she was running from fear of the unknown. "I'm safest with Azkadellia," she said again. "And she's safest with me! If there's danger, actual, real _danger_, then I should be with her. This is ridiculous –" She stood then, shooting up so fast Cain was surprised she didn't fall right back down on her bottom. She looked ready to bolt back to Central, darkness, Papay field, and all.

Glitch seemed to have come to the same conclusion. "DG, please sit. You can't go back."

Raw, still standing quietly, stopped wringing his hands long enough to reach for her again. "Please, DG." He winced when she refused to move. Instead, she put her hands on her hips, and leaned ominously over Glitch, who, again to Cain's wonderment, was not cowed. It was still hitting him hard, and unexpectedly, how much they had changed and strengthened, and how much they had stayed the same.

"Why did my mother send me away." Her demand, not a question, hung in the air long after she'd finished it; Glitch wordlessly stammered, and Raw's hand fell out of the air and stayed helplessly at his side. Cain – well, he remained where he was. There was nothing else for him to do.

DG shook her head. "You know," she said to none of them in particular, useless as they were, "I've put up with a lot. Really, I have. I don't want to sound ungrateful, but saving the world was a pretty thankless job, and I've done everything after it without ever asking why, and I'm not going _a step further_ until someone explains to me what I'm doing it for." With that, she went back to her spot, settling with her back against a tree and her arms wrapped around her knees. So determined was her stand that Cain found himself believing her.

_Not your business to tell her, Wyatt, keep your damned mouth shut._

Minutes marched past with traitorous consistency. The flames ate away at the thick deadfall that gave it life, slowly reducing it to broken, glowing coals. Ash flew in the air now with each combustion, fewer and far between. To break the spell, Cain added more felled branches, banking it up for the night. He kept his eyes down, trying to ignore the nervous twitching of Raw's leg, or Glitch's hands worrying at his pant legs, or DG's utter stillness. None of it pointed to this ending easily.

Eventually, Glitch cleared his throat, a superficial gesture, a place to begin. "There's no danger from the Longcoats – not from the New – not without –" He stalled and started, stalled again. A poor font of knowledge, but the only one they had. "You're out of Central City. Out of sight, out of mind."

DG's brow knit together, confusion and anger, always a volatile combination. "What –"

Cain, growling, had finally had enough. "It means that there's no chance of the resistance getting to you, turning you against your sister."

DG shook her head. "That's insane," she said, lips staying parted in disbelief.

"Not really," Cain said, saving Glitch from her line of fire. He stood up, brushing ash off his hands. "Not everyone around you believes in your sister as much as you do. What with your mother being sick, well, it changes the perspective a bit."

"Yours?" she demanded.

He exhaled hard, and raised his chin. "No. Don't ever ask me that again. I mean it, princess."

Blushing, she looked away.

* * *

Hours later, Wyatt was the only one awake.

He sat at the farthest edge of the campsite, his back to a stout tree and the chill summer night all around him. His advantage of a small slope allowed him to see the silhouettes of the others, curled in their sleeping rolls around the fire; the dim glow of the deep-heart embers illuminated little more than small glimpses of fair flesh, peeking out from collar, sleeve, or blanket.

Sleep was coming slowly to him, but he was already beginning to feel its gradual pull, and had since been considering moving back down the rise to the minimal comfort of his bedroll. The light breeze already seemed intent on lulling him to sleep, playing through the whole of the forest with gentle precision. Summer nights like this... he remembered them with such clarity, spots of brilliance in his sepia memory. Adora and Jeb, his mother and sisters, lives long gone or lost to him through the tick of iron and clockwork.

Ghosts kept him awake, whispers in the trees wove cobwebs in his eyes. A battle waged inside his body, and the victor was yet undetermined; while he waited, he kept his thoughts trained on the night around him, the memories that wanted to seep inside his blood like creeping cold. Fighting them off was easier said; with no distraction, he was at the mercy of whatever his mind threw at him.

White dress, ash leaves, yellow ribbons and muddy water; blue eyes and brown ones, wide and scared, dead eyes; rain and snow, one endless grey day, trapped forever in grey, yellow ribbons, blood-stained yellow ribbons; a smile, gentle and reserved, a lady's smile, but now it was all shiny, happy teeth and pink lips, hard-coaxed and hard-won –

The shadows near the slow-burning fire shifted; shaking the loosened memories out of his head, he sat up straighter, focused on what he could see, ears keened to detect what he couldn't. Another shift, a soft rustle, a distinct press of needles in the dirt.

"Getting better," he said, settling back and trying to ignore the fact that there was a hammer to his heartbeat. "Your feet are still making too much noise."

DG's voice rang out to his right. "I don't know, I think I scared you."

"Never."

The outline of her slim, willowy body materialized, the opaque blackness dissipating into muted shadow. "Usually, when someone jolts upright like that –" She settled down next to him, her back nestled against the trunk of the tree he'd chosen, the weight of her arm along his the only proof she was there at all. Mimicking his position, she stretched her legs out in front of her, so that they created a ninety-degree angle with his own. It was the closest she gotten to him yet on her own volition, and he made no remark.

"I didn't jolt upright," was all he could mutter in defence.

"Right."

He sighed. "Can't sleep?"

There was soft swishing; he imagined her shaking her head, her loose, tumbling hair rubbing against the wool of her coat. "No, but you can't either, can you?"

"More like won't, I think."

A meek, albeit curious, voice returned to him. "Why not?"

He gave it a moment of thought. "Too much to consider, night like this." Would he tell her that he'd only been musing through his broken history, missing those long gone, and missing those close to him, beside him, as well? No, never. He wasn't about to give up all that he thought, all that he was, just because she'd decided to grace his lonely perch with her warm presence.

He turned his head as she raised her chin toward the sky. There were no visible stars, but he knew they burned bright beyond where his earthly eyes could see. "It's a nice night," she breathed. "I think I'm going to like summer in the O.Z."

"Nice enough," he admitted. She didn't respond, and was too still for his liking. Whatever was keeping her from sleep was going to keep him from it as well, unless he worked out of her what was eating away at her conscience – not that it was all that difficult to guess. "Seems like you got some talkin' to do."

"Do I?"

He smirked. "Don't take a Viewer's gift to see that you're bothered by something."

"Only a Tin Man's intuition, I guess."

"Hardly; were that the case, I'd tell you that you're vexed over what the zipperhead told you."

"He's not a zipperhead," she said in vehement defence.

Not to be put off, he replied, "And I'm not a Tin Man, and you're not a kid, are you? Now quit trying to give me the run-around."

She blew out a breathy chuckle. "Glitch said, 'out of sight, out of mind'."

"Seems to be the consensus."

"It makes no sense," she said with her usual monotony. "I'm _not_ safer. If my mother is worried about my _safety_, why am I out here, in the middle of nowhere, without an armed escort? And you don't count."

Cain smiled into the darkness. "The four of us make for a pretty decent team, kid, can't deny that."

Another short, quiet laugh. "If they're worried about kidnapping, or murder, why –"

"Resistance doesn't have that kind of mobilisation," he said, cutting her off before she delved too deeply into what could happen. "Small factions, no real leadership. It's why they'd want you, if they really do."

"You don't think they do?"

He cleared his throat. "Don't know if I do or not. Seems a lot of fuss over nothin', but there's a lot I don't know."

"I don't need to know everything to know we're running from nothing," she said with conviction. "And I wouldn't have cared two months ago. Hey, vacation, not something to complain about. Now, my mom –" Her voice hitched. "There's no danger in the O.Z. worth leaving her for."

"DG." There was no judging her face in this dark, no reading her eyes; he was literally stumbling through this blind. He'd been prepared for anger, not sorrow.

"Wouldn't you rather be with Jeb now, instead of out here babysitting?"

Cain didn't answer right away, carefully weighing the virtues and shortcomings of both the right answer and the honest one. In the end, coward that he was, avoidance won out. "If I recall correctly, Jeb has never once asked me for my help," he said. "You did."

"I did _not_ ask you for your help," she said forcefully. "Ambrose asked for it; my mother asked for it. I did not, ever –"

"There's a boost to my confidence."

She softened, even if it was only in the slightest. "I was waiting for you to come back on your own."

Her gentle admission caught him off-guard, humbling his pride. "I didn't realize, kiddo."

Ever so gradually, she turned her body toward his; her hand found his in the darkness. When she entwined their fingers, the boldest of gestures considering, he didn't fight it, didn't move, didn't stop her. Her palm was warm, her fingertips cold.

In the quietest voice, she asked, "How could you?"

The question, and all its implications, kept him awake that night, long after she'd left his side and gone to sleep.

* * *

_Author's Note: Thank you again to all my readers. I know my update schedule is sporadic (re: horrible). I can promise exciting things are coming (soon). Leave me one, if you are so inclined. _**:) **


	11. A Place to Rest

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

* * *

_When Last We Met: Outside the oppressive walls of the Central Palace, the four heroes travel due south to the safety and seclusion of Finaqua, summer estate of the Gales. With the truth of the intention of the New Resistance finally out in the open, Cain and the others remain forced to accept that Lady Lavender's intention of sending them away is infinitely harder to guess._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter Eleven: A Place to Rest**

There was a familiar split in the road, where the greenest of the summer leaves tinted the sunslight as it came down in thick shafts, painting the ground with jagged streaks of pale verdure. The fork to the right led them on a snake-dance journey down a gradual decline, a path that eventually wound its way around the maze. They came out near the lake, where an old potting shed was nearly lost to ivy.

The trees grew tall and straight and white here, closest to the lake where it was said magic ribboned through the water. Summer thrived, where further north, through the country he'd just travelled, the season was still new with only a delicate grip. Cain breathed deeper as they dismounted and walked their horses over a narrow path choked with reedgrass.

The palace grounds were vast, without even considering the headache of the maze. Surrounded by deep, cold lakes, the endless, old-growth forest, all in the shadow of the distant Ruby Mountains, it was the most remote corner of the Zone, and the most unknown. Much of the adjoining lands – the forest, the mountains – were uncharted territories; beyond the borders of Finaqua, the maps were dotted with as much legend as landmarks. As far back as the histories of the Gale dynasty went, the O.Z. had been cut off, with only the absent threat of invasion from all-but-forgotten kingdoms keeping them in current memory at all.

He let DG and Glitch lead the way; together, the two of them managed to find the way to the estate. Along the grassy banks of the lake, the fields had erupted in wildflowers which Glitch identified as _Hesperis matronalis_; Cain remembered his own mother calling it Dame's Rocket. The marsh fields surrounding his house up north had already bloomed and gone to seed in the spring; it seemed, in Finaqua, nature had changed the rules.

Steps were lighter, faces brightened; smiles graced every face, even his own. The suns were warm and unhindered, the sky wide-open above them and cloudless. The calls of the palace guard echoed out across the lake as they were met along the lakeshore path; the horses were taken to the stable by two boys whose mouths gaped at the sight of a Viewer, the princess going completely unnoticed. It made her laugh as they were led toward the palace.

The crystal-glass windows near blinded Cain; the refraction threw a million colours at him, assaulted his senses and left him broken and agitated by the painful beauty of it. His muddy boots scraped against the white stone of the steps, the mammoth doors were open wide to swallow the group whole. In short order, they were swept up by beaming maids and led down different corridors, separated in relative safety, and yet the palace of Finaqua did little to assuage Cain's spirit. A comfortable room with a breathtaking view of the lake and mountains, what else could there be for a saviour of the Zone and protector of a princess?

A spell of peace, woven over the eyes, the soul. The sunslight streaming in his window was soft, pale yellow; the breeze coming in off the lake smelled of damp and natural decay, masked the scent of reedgrass and wildflowers.

_Finaqua._

Grumbling to himself, Cain slammed the sill down and wrenched the curtains shut. He was in no mood for this perfection, this world untouched by the march of time. His thoughts were too dark, too encompassing to allow them to be so easily sated by a pristine lake on a beautiful day.

The shade and shadow comforted him, more than a gentle hand or quiet voice ever could. Was he as deserving as he'd once been? Being too focused on his solitude for the past six months had skewed his perception, and he was beginning to think he couldn't trust his own judgement, let alone those who were pulling the strings in his life of late.

He removed his boots, and sat back in a wing back chair that turned out to be deceivingly more comfortable than at first glance would suggest. With his legs stretched out before him, hands folded over his stomach, he began to relax. His eyes closed. Though he was far from sleep, his mind had slowed, his muscles eased.

Eventually, his belongings were brought up; food followed. He did little more than grunt that entry was allowed, the intrusions mere annoyances, unworthy of even opening his eyes. His things stayed pack, and he left the fancy fare to congeal on the tray.

He'd been searching for quiet that belonged only to him; not shared with others, filled with unsaid words and stolen glances, not heavy and laden with threat and despair. For the first time since leaving his cabin – no, since leaving Central City six months before – he wasn't wondering, worried about what the others were doing, how they were managing without him. There was no guilt over this fact, nor was he concerned in the least. Glitch was suspicious, Raw careful, and despite an adventurous streak, DG had a good, sensible head on her shoulders. They'd keep each other out of trouble, if indeed they weren't doing exactly as he, and resting with their thoughts.

They'd made it to Finaqua. It was time to breathe.

* * *

The shadows had lengthened, overtaking his room by the time Cain awoke. He didn't remember falling asleep, or if he'd dreamed, only that falling asleep in chairs was becoming an uncomfortable habit, one that he'd rather not continue. He stood and stretched, walked slowly to the window to open the curtains once again. The lake was still, reflecting the faded purple of the sky as the suns set to the east; far down the shore, the gazebo was lit with lanterns, leaving the shallow shores dancing with light.

Shaking his head, he turned away from the window; the fairytale feel of this place was going to get to him in the end, and he'd be itching to leave here just as badly as he'd been to leave Central. With a palace full of distractions, and DG so morose that she did little more than sit and draw most days, he was going to be hard-pressed to find ways to keep his hands busy. He didn't want to picture himself with an idle mind.

This wasn't going to do any good. He needed to clear his head; a walk by the lake would do him good. Just getting outside, away from the rooms that still reeked of non-existence; it was stuffy, warm, and doing him no favours.

He changed his clothes, and sat down on the bed to retrieve his boots from underneath; when he leaned down, he realised with no minimal amount of surprise, that he wasn't alone. Even in the murky twilight, there was no mistaking the figure sitting next to him. As he sat up slowly, eyes following the slender silhouette until his back was straight and he was staring into the pale, greying face of Lady Lavender.

Frowning deeply, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, rethinking just how awake he'd thought he was.

"Hello, Mr. Cain."

"Yeah, hi," he sighed. When he looked up, she hadn't disappeared.

"My daughter will not be safe in your charge."

He cocked an eyebrow, doing nothing to hide his annoyance. "Is that so?"

Lavender, whatever form of her appeared before him, smiled gently. "She is far too powerful; she must not be allowed to return, it will lead to ruin. She is whole, and pure, and so she should remain."

Cain, exhaling hard, let his head hang. "There'll be no convincing her of that fact."

The apparition beside him continued on, unabated by his interruption. "She cannot be permitted to go back."

Raising his head to look at the ghost of a woman who sat beside him, no more substantial than an autumn leaf, dried and colourless, Cain did nothing to hide his confusion. "Cannot –"

Lavender's eyes settled on him, chilling him down to the core. Her conviction was something that he readily recognised, something that echoed deep inside his chest, parts of himself he'd forgotten existed. "She cannot go back." She reached out to touch his sleeve, and in that instant, Cain pushed himself upright so forcefully that he was almost thrown bodily from the chair. Breathing hard, he looked around, and then down at himself. He was still in his rumpled travelling clothes and stockinged feet. Still in the chair. Still half asleep.

He blinked hard once, wiping a hand over his face, trying all the while to shake the visions of Lavender out of his head. His bed was empty. When he went to the window, he revisited the same deep and dusky purple sky, the same fairy lights shimmering on the surface of the lake, only – only a lone figure now sat in the gazebo, small and near lost to the gloaming.

His hands trembled as he washed up, changed his clothes. Going through the motions of retrieving his boots bristled the hairs on his arms, his neck. The room around him remained quiet, the shadows shifted, the light left.

He left his coat – and his gunbelt – in his room, and quickly retraced his steps downstairs to the grand hall. The front doors were still opened to the night breeze off the lake, the lights out on the steps fighting back the darkness beyond the terraces. It was into this veil that he threw himself, the hazy evening opening to accept him. The path to the gazebo was well worn, unmarked by lanterns, but the lights by the lake led him, the beacon from his dream.

A dream, just a dream, brought on by stress, by a lack of sleep, by a lifetime spent locked up on his feet; that's all it was, all it could be. Dreams were for fools who had time to follow them.

"_She cannot go back."_

Gods help him, it was all DG wanted, the only thing she wanted.

Cain slowed his long strides as he approached, squinting into the brightness. She was sitting on the swing, her sketchpad in her lap; the central figure on a platform of luminescence. The lanterns that hung from the eaves were burning with a different sort of light; no flame flickered on the wicks, instead little wisps of pure white floated lazily inside the glass. At least two dozen of her conjured lights; was she truly in control of them all?

Still hidden in the evening's depths, he stayed planted, watching the strong, even strokes of her wrist as she drew the pencil tip over her page. Her brow was furrowed, the entirety of her concentration absorbed in whatever she'd tasked herself to capture. She did not look up, did not seek a subject out, so he knew she was drawing from memory.

He thought back on all the times he'd interrupted her while she was working, and reconsidered disturbing her at all. If she hadn't at that moment pulled a distasteful face at her piece and flipped to a new page, he would've turned on his heel and headed back to the house. Instead, he called out.

"Hey, kiddo." He walked out of the shadows, and into the circle of light that surrounded the gazebo.

She glanced up quickly, but it was a few moments before her eyes focused on him. Her expression was nigh unreadable. "I was wondering when you were going to show your face." Then she smiled, and he felt himself ease closer to her, despite whatever reservations he had.

"Fell asleep without meaning to." He stopped a few feet shy of the step up to the platform.

DG closed her sketchbook, leaving the pencil pressed in between the heavy pages. The soft blue cover was stained with ink and paint. After she'd tucked it beside her on the swing, her hand passed lazily in the air, as if wiping at steam coated glass. One by one, the small conjured lights disappeared, and flames leapt to life in their place. The glare off the lake dimmed, the shadows crept in.

"Glitch napped, too. I don't know where Raw went off to. Nobody came down to supper. Just me," she said, and shrugged in afterthought. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't enjoying it here."

"Me too," he said, stepping up under the ring of lanterns to stand inside the gazebo. "Me too."

Her smile returned, almost, but not quite, reaching her eyes. The distance seemed impossible. "So what are we supposed to do now?"

"Meaning what, exactly."

"_Meaning_," she said, "are we really going to just... sit around and wait?"

"Pretty much."

"For how long?"

"Don't know, myself. Glitch might have a better understanding, why don't you go badger him for a while?"

She let out an exasperated sigh, and let her head hang, obscuring his view of her face with her hair. Without looking up, she braced her feet against the wooden floor, giving the swing a gentle push; her hands wrapped around the chains, and it was only then that she let her head fall back, staring up into the carved rafters. He watched her in silence, standing with the flickering lanterns to his back, the palace lights in the distance, and all manner of blackness in between. She made a fragile picture, reminding him of the world he'd once known, before tin badges and revolutions and iron suits. It was a world that would never exist for him again, but perhaps it might for someone else, someone with better luck.

Long minutes passed filled with every sound but that of voices; the lap of water against the banks, the night breeze whispering through the reedgrass, the dull creak and groan of the swing as DG went back and forth.

She was still seeking out the why of it all, and he couldn't make her see the folly in it, there was no making her, period. He could only stand by until she gave up on it, moved onto something else just as futile.

"Cain?"

He looked up from studying the floorboards. "Hmm."

"Was my mother a good queen? I mean, well – before."

He smirked. "Are you sure I'm the one you want to be asking that question?"

"Please," she said, rolling her eyes, "you're the only one who is going to give me a real answer. Everyone else is either in love with her or bound by loyalty."

_Bound or blinded, kiddo?_

"Well, then," he said, and sighed. He leaned his back up against a carved support beam, crossing his arms over his chest; he made a show of thinking hard, of remembering so far back. "As I recall it," he began slowly, "those were good annuals. Peaceful. Unremarkable, considering how her reign ended." He watched her wince at his easy way; he almost could have lied to her, to keep that pain away. "DG, you've got to remember now that I wasn't anyone special before the eclipse. I wasn't more than a fool wearing a scrap of tin on his chest before the Mystic Man found me."

"I know that," she muttered, barely audible. She'd stopped swinging, though her hands still clutched the chains. She looked up from her lap, and she offered him a small smile as their eyes met. He couldn't help but smile back, ruefully shaking his head.

"My –" He paused, cursed himself, and tried again. "Adora admired your mother, DG, as did near everyone in the whole damn country. Do you know how many the Sorceress killed who had sworn undying oaths to the _true_ queen?"

She pursed her lips and looked away.

Cain growled quietly to himself. "I know these things are hard for you to hear, darlin', but –"

"I told you I wanted a real answer, didn't I?"

"Listen," he said firmly, and her blue eyes sought his out again. "You'll drive yourself half-mad trying to figure out what you're doing and why. You can make your demands when we get home, I'll be right there beside you, honest. For now, just... let it be."

"You just –"

"Promise me," he said.

Wide-eyed, she nodded, and he could have stayed satisfied with that. He could have taken her back up to the house, bid her goodnight, and spent a quiet evening with his usual demons and their usual torments, but then –

"You said, 'when we get home'."

Had he really thrown around those words so carelessly? Uncomfortably, he cleared his throat. "I did."

"Does that mean –" She stopped herself short, and her eyes dropped; the internal struggle beginning, clear as glass. He watched her stand, run those blackened fingertips over her hips, as if brushing off unwanted thoughts could be so simple. "I should go check on Glitch before he takes all the good books out of the library." Her sentence was half-hearted, distracted, and even she didn't believe it. For a girl who didn't want to run away from a possible civil war, she sure as hell could move her feet when chased by her own uncertainty.

"Hey," he said, reaching out to touch her arm as she went past. She stopped for him, gave him that much, but her eyes were impossible to catch. "I don't know what it means, darlin', not just yet."

A brief moment passed where she seemed to want to say something; she thought better of it, stayed silent. She offered him up a small smile, penance for keeping her tongue. He listened to her footsteps through the reedgrass for as long as he was able, and once she was gone, he let go a long-held breath. He leaned a little heavier on the pillar, and took a moment to languish in his own stupidity.

He hadn't thought of staying in Central City, his mind had been focused on returning _home_, to his much prized solitude, where he was free to be unneeded. Here, by the lake and under the gazebo's lights, was it so easy to forget that he'd made a promise to himself, that he owed the girl _nothing_, that he didn't want –

No, there it was. _Want_. It had been a long, long time since seeking out what he'd wanted had ended in anything but heartache, despair, or death. He was accustomed to loss, and detachment – as was DG, and it caused him to feel a sort of softness toward her that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in far too many annuals.

Cain closed his eyes against the glow of the lanterns, hoping once again to wake up and find himself back in his room at sunsdown, to let his mind guard his weak human heart against the foolishness that was becoming something akin to courtship, the very pain he'd wanted to avoid when he left Central City behind after the eclipse. He didn't have it in him to do this again, not when the outcome was always so very, very unclear.

The future wasn't his to plan, and until word arrived from Central, his life was not his to command. He could ignore his mind, and he could ignore his heart. He could bury deep down in him whatever response he had to DG's sky eyes, her smile.

What he couldn't ignore was the dream of foreboding, words that still echoed in him. Nor, he found, could he ignore the sound of a dog barking, sharp and high-pitched, or the fact that, though he wished he were imagining the whole damned thing, the barking was growing steadily closer.


	12. Out of Central City

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

**

* * *

**

_When Last We Met: With great unease, the four heroes try to settle in Finaqua, fulfilling the final wishes of Lavender, who lingers near death. For Cain, the greater danger lies not in Lavender's fate or the negligible threat of the New Resistance, but in DG._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter Twelve: Out of Central City**

The night would not end, and Cain seemed to finally be coming to the end of his fuse. He was scrabbling for purchase, though, his grip on his patience tenacious at best, but the night _would not end._

He'd waited at the gazebo, ears straining until he'd heard the rustle of something tearing through the reedgrass; it had been no surprise to him when a blurry bit of fur and ferocity bounded out of the tall grass and up the steps, yapping something awful all the while.

"Who let you off the leash?" Cain had asked, cocking an eyebrow at the mutt at his feet.

Toto had slumped to laying, whimpered; he then took to panting, a miserable picture.

Cain had just grumbled, bent over to scoop the dog up, and had dutifully carried him up to the house. As was often the way, one thing led to another, to another until he found himself now, again with no surprise, surrounded by four very keyed-up individuals, discussing things that were far and beyond his realm of experience. With every passing second, ticking away there on the wall, their safety crumbled, the complications much more dire than even the moment before.

And no one looked like they planned on shutting up any time soon.

* * *

It was a drawing room in which they'd all met, coming together in pieces; Glitch had declared this out-of-the-way place as his own, and already the dust-laced tabletops and shelves were crowded with all manner of things the inventor had spirited away during his forays deeper into the palace. Potted plants, toys and trinkets, broken bits of miscellany, waiting for nimble fingers to work a mechanical magic. Mostly though, it was books, stacked and scattered and waiting. It was to this untouched, newly-claimed sanctuary that Cain first brought Toto, dumped him down onto the carpet, much to Glitch's protest about defiling the antiquity of said carpet with muddy boots, to say nothing of muddy paws.

When finally Glitch did take notice of the familiar beady eyes and stringy fur, his eyes went wide with disbelief. One word escaped his lips before they pursed shut again.

"_Lavender_."

Cain's jaw tightened as the dog before him disappeared in a blurry stretch of tweed and dark flesh. The tutor's eyes were serious, but when weren't they serious?

"Take the look off your face, Master Ambrose," Tutor said, shaking his head. He went straight to the largest of the sofas lining the walls, and eased himself down; at once at home, dog that he was. "Go and fetch the others, would you? I'd like to tell this story just the once."

Heavy feet carried Cain through the palace in the search for Raw; Glitch had volunteered to find DG, and Cain hadn't had reason to argue. His brief moment with the girl in the gazebo, under the glow of the lanterns, was still too fresh; every minute that went by until he saw her again was a minute in which he would regain control, composure. He hoped to give her that same opportunity, though the fact that it took Glitch almost an hour to track her down made him rethink his decision.

In the meantime, the greying old teacher took his time to recover. Raw had offered comfort, but Tutor had just waved him off; then, before taking to his shadowed corner, Cain had leaned against the wall near the door, arms folded across his chest, waiting. The three remained in silence, missing their louder counterparts, shifting uncomfortably every now and again. When finally, after a full pass of the hour hand on the wall clock, DG burst in the door, Cain had fully banished the softness that had been his chink earlier.

However, he hadn't been prepared for the sight of her stricken face, the panic in her sky eyes. But she didn't go to him, didn't even see him. She went straight to the mutt.

"Tutor, what's going on? Is my mother all right?"

Glitch slunk into the room; a sad, sheepish smile was on his face as he closed the door behind him. Cain frowned in his direction.

"Your mother is –" Tutor grunted as he pushed himself to his feet. "She's fine, DG, calm yourself."

"She's not fine," DG said, but stepped off just the same, a long exhale escaping her, as if she'd been holding onto it for the entire path she'd torn through the palace. "If she was, none of us would be here, even you." She continued to glare at her tutor, shutting out everyone else in the room.

"Maybe he came to give us the all clear," Glitch said hopefully, trying to mend the fix he'd put the tutor in.

Immediately, though very slowly, Tutor shook his head, sombre eyes set on Glitch.

"Lavender –"

Tutor cut him off. "Lavender lives," he said firmly, eyes now flicking to each of them in turn, making sure to drive his point home. "She lives. She's grown – she's very, very weak. Declined drastically, even since you left yesterday morning. Before then."

"She sleeps," Raw said softly; he stood near the fire, arms uselessly at his sides. That his hands weren't clasped in front of him, fingers tangled tight, worried Cain more than the words he'd said. It was the stance of the defeated, listless and lifeless.

"Yes," Tutor said, "she sleeps. Only sleeps now. It's lucky, in its way; Glinda only knows we could use Lavender's dreaming."

"Her dreaming?" DG asked, deterred only slightly.

"What little power she has left will find ways to work itself, so long as her blood is still pumping," he said. "We've talked on this before, DG. You've called it her mind-meddling."

"Oh, _that_ dreaming."

At that point, Wyatt had moved casually away from the door, went to the windows on the pretence of checking the locks. There was no one to overhear them there, even if the sashes has been thrown high and wide open. Nothing outside but lake and grass, fathomless sky. It allowed him to turn his back on the others, to listen without staring, too put off by the pauses and distracted glances to focus on tone; nothing to stare at in the darkened glass but his own reflection, the hazy silhouettes moving about behind him.

DG. "I still don't understand why you're here, then."

After a moment, Tutor. "Your sister sent me."

"Azkadellia?" DG gave a short laugh. "I thought you weren't here to –"

"I'm not," he said, "I'm here to tell you not to return to Central City, however much you might want to."

_She cannot go back._

Cain sighed, hooking his thumbs into his belt as he leaned one shoulder against the window frame. These new instructions vexed him. A very small, but very definite, distinction between _don't return to Central City, _and _stay in Finaqua._

DG cut into his thoughts, tired and weighted; she still hadn't taken a first glance at him. "Okay, you told me," she said to Tutor, "and you're still standing there like you've got more to say."

Even the hoary reflection showed Tutor sliding his hands nervously into his coat pockets, a move that gave Cain reason enough to turn and watch them all more carefully. He hadn't expected this moment, had imagined more endless dancing over the next few days before he got down to the root of things; he wasn't ready when the moment came barging in on him, so to speak.

DG spoke. "Why can't I go back to Central City, Tutor?"

Cain smiled to himself. _Good girl. _He glanced to her, to the others; her mouth pressed into a tight line, Raw still trying his best to disappear, Glitch set to pacing in front of the door, standing guard in case any one of them tried to bolt, the dog-man's hands fumbling for a touchstone that wasn't there.

"You aren't too good at keeping secrets," Cain finally spoke up, his steady words causing the tutor's eyes to hit the floor. "I think it's about time you enlightened all of us. It's why you came, ain't it?"

"You're right," Tutor said, and then he chuckled, warmer than Cain had expected. The old man turned to DG, to whom the small laugh was for. "Where to begin."

She waited, oh how patiently she waited. If she were breathing, Cain couldn't discern by just looking. Still as stone, every one of them waited as she did, as the mutt put his words together, carefully stringing them so that he might get it right.

"First, DG, I don't want you to think that the resistance is any less of a threat to you or your family," he said sternly. "Never dismiss it as unimportant, do you hear me?"

DG's eyes widened, but she gave no compliance. "The resistance can't be a threat if you separated me from my sister," she said, though there was no conviction behind the words to lend them strength. Just words.

"No more of a threat today or yesterday than any day in the past few months," he said. "The fight at the gate two nights past was an opportune moment; merely a scapegoat."

"A scapegoat for what?" Glitch piped up, genuinely curious.

"Lavender," Tutor said heavily. "Her attempt to protect DG."

DG shook her head. "Azkadellia and I can protect each other. From anything. That's how _you taught us_." She crossed her arms over her chest.

Tutor squared his eyes on her. "Azkadellia cannot protect you from yourself, DG."

She laughed then, disbelievingly. "From myself?"

"She's not powerful enough," Glitch said, hopeful lilt directed at Tutor. "Is that right?"

"Yes, it is," Tutor replied unhappily.

"What am I going to do that I need protecting from?" DG asked; Wyatt could hear the control she fought to maintain, the shiver of anger across her features that was so easily swallowed away behind her mask of detachment. "Do they really think for a second that I'm going to lead a rebellion to fight Az for the throne? I don't want it, I've told them before, just because –"

"You don't understand, DG," Tutor said softly, holding up a large hand to silence her. "It has nothing to do with the throne, the crown, the Emerald, or the O.Z. itself."

"Then what?" She looked to no one else but her tutor.

He had no ready response, stumbled over what he'd had prepared as – well, what exactly, Cain wasn't sure. The tension around him weighed so heavily, his shoulders sagged. He looked about for somewhere to sit, and as his eyes turned away, Tutor gave DG her answer.

"Your mother worries – no, fears, _fears _that you will use your Light in an effort to help her. That you might even go so far as to – you must know this first –"

"I might even go so far as to _what_? Do what _she did_?"

"DG, please –"

She wasn't listening. She'd put both her hands into her hair, hiding her face behind her arms. "_Damn it_, why do I still listen to this woman? Why are any of us still listening to this woman?"

As she muttered this aloud, seemingly speaking to not a one of them in particular, Cain had fallen into a low-backed armchair tucked into a shadowed corner; with his elbows on his knees, he bowed his head into his hands. How had he fallen into this so unwittingly? Was he so much of a fool that a woman as oblivious and possibly mad as Lavender was could so easily and completely twist his life around on him?

He felt for the kid, truly, he did; he watched as she stood in the centre of the room, hands patting down her hair now as she swore an oath under her breath that would have made his undercity contacts blush.

Tutor stood silently before DG, watching her grumble and cuss with his mouth settled in an impatient line. He seemed to be waiting out her reaction, as if he'd expected it for all he hadn't known in the first place how he was going to tell her. On Azkadellia's order, he'd come; two more who had lost faith in Lavender's greater plan. Cain himself was glad he'd never been expected to put faith into it to begin with; it was tripe he wouldn't have, couldn't have swallowed.

It was Raw who pulled them all back together, out of their private hells. "DG never," was all he said.

The girl nodded fiercely. "He's right, I wouldn't ever – I wouldn't even know _how_, how can you expect – you of all people! – expect that I would know how to do something like that? Why didn't you tell her that? You know I can't!"

Tutor cleared his throat uncomfortably, shuffling his feet as he spoke. "Your magic is in your blood, DG, as much a part of your make-up than anything; there may come a day when your body will do as it will and you'll be powerless to stop it. Asking Azkadellia to do so is foolish – and dangerous."

DG had begun to tremble. From his shadowy vantage, Cain could see it quite clearly. He couldn't take his eyes off of her, watching and gauging her every response in a vain attempt to understand her mind, and more importantly, predict what action she might decide to take.

The others seemed to be watching her similarly; all eyes were on her, three dark sets and his own blues, she was their centre and she was lost, to them and to herself. She took no notice of them, none at all; closed in on herself as she took it all in, forced it to make sense, puzzle pieces with no semblance of colour, picture, only pieces meant to make a whole.

"So this is the truth, then?" she asked, small voiced, eyes to the wayside. "I'm not in control, I'm _dangerous_?"

"No, no," Tutor said, "you've misunderstood me."

"Like hell I have!"

Cain smirked, hiding it with a turn of his head, though he was all but disappeared as far as the others were concerned. It suited him just fine.

"Your mother made no conscious decision to save your life, child," Tutor said gravely. "Purely instinctual, _primal_, the kind of magic I can never, ever hope to teach you. You cannot train for it, can't learn it."

DG shook her head hard. "My mother is dying, Toto, _dying_, and you say she sent me away because I might try to save her? But what about Az –"

Tutor interrupted her, not meeting her eyes. "The bond isn't there."

"And how are you so sure the bond as you call it still exists between my mother and me?" she asked bitterly.

"There's hardly a doubt."

She wrinkled her nose, retorted petulantly, "Hardly."

Baleful dark eyes focused solely on her. "Your sketchbook, DG. Spending every day in that sickroom. And I scarcely need mention that heartbroken look on your face, Gods sakes girl, don't look at me like that; I've only followed my instructions as you have."

She closed her eyes, sniffled lightly. "How would you have me be, Toto?" Her voice as she said this was steady, not the faintest shiver to betray what must have been a tempest brewing inside of her; it reminded Cain, sharply, bitterly reminded him too much of the girl he'd encountered his first night back in Central City, keeping herself at a distance, unfeeling and hidden behind layers of royal masque.

Quiet fell once again, no answer to give the girl reassurance or strength. Only the shift and sigh of men too cowardly to tell her the shattering truth; that they were all pawns and mattered little, pride kept their tongues in their heads.

Raw had finally taken a seat in an occasional chair set against the wall near the fireplace; his head bowed, leaning slightly toward the dark, empty grate. Glitch seemed to be caught in a rare moment of stillness, his eyes working back and forth furiously as if the solution to life's problems were carved into the floor. And Cain himself? Still lurking in a shadowed corner, too absorbed in his own selfish anger to notice or care.

"I came here," Tutor began, but paused, cleared his throat. He glanced suddenly to Glitch, to Cain, a thin sheen of sweat now on his dark brow. His words were meant only for the princess, but constantly his gaze wandered, addressing all in the room. "I was sent here by Azkadellia, without the knowledge of Lavender or Ahamo. Especially Ahamo. He would strongly disagree with what I am about to tell you, and with good reason. I suspect there are others here who might feel the same."

The weight of this hit Cain square in the chest like a sackful of bricks; he sat up a little straighter.

"There – there may be a chance," he said. "A slim one, very slim."

DG, her keen ear detecting the sudden, small change in his tone, was on him in an instant. "Chance? A chance to what?"

He cleared his throat again, forcing the words past the block in his throat likely firmly put there by his conscience. "A chance to stop what's happening to Lavender, before –" Another pause before his voice returned, quieter, meek. "A chance to save her life."

DG paled; it was Glitch who responded, quietly and carefully. "Why haven't you spoken of this before?"

Tutor gave a weak half-smile. "I couldn't speak on anything until I was certain, and even then, Azkadellia had baulked at the idea of disobeying your mother's wishes. Now that Lavender is 'dreaming her sleep', as they say, she made up her mind to send me to you."

DG's head gave the slightest expectant shake as she waited with seemingly bated breath for him to continue. Glitch had moved closer in interest, and even Raw had looked up from the hearth. It was only Cain who wished that he could muzzle a man as easily as a dog; they were now discussing things that were far and beyond his realm of experience. With every passing second, ticking away there on the wall, their safety crumbled, the complications much more dire than even the moment before.

And no one looked like they planned on shutting up any time soon.

"Azkadellia believes there may be a higher authority that could be approached," Tutor said slowly, unentirely certain of himself, "one that may be able to stop the progression of your mother's... illness. Power that none of your line have ever known."

Glitch's face lit up with recognition, a familiar expression of wonder crossing his features. "You're joking, right? We don't believe those old stories, do we?" he asked with a dismissive laugh. "There's been no evidence of the existence of the High Four in the past –"

"Whom do you suppose DG pulled from her sister?" was Tutor's prompt response. "A lesser?"

Glitch blushed, stammered a pathetic string of incoherency.

"All right, you've gone way over my head again," DG said, holding her hands out in front of her in surrender. Cain, though he kept his mouth firmly clamped shut, agreed wholeheartedly, but his reasoning was surely – and quite literally – a world apart.

"It's said that the ancients worshipped four beings of great power," Glitch said in low tones. "Mention of them all but disappears with the arrival of Dorothy Gale, but for their persistent presence in legend, stories about good witches and wicked."

"Stories," DG said, skeptical.

"Stories say that when Dorothy Gale fell into the O.Z., she was given the gift of Light with which to rule the O.Z. by the last fading power, the Sorceress, Glinda. There's no mention of her – or any of the four – again in any official record that survived, and since the purge of knowledge during the war –"

"And you think the witch that possessed my sister is one of those four?"

Tutor shook his head. "Azkadellia knows, DG. She knows it to be true. The memories – there is no denying it."

Again, silence fell over them; Cain felt it bear down upon him so heavily that he would have gotten up and walked out of the room were DG and Glitch not planted right in front of the door. His every thought darkened with the knowledge that was being put onto the shoulders of the girl, and his heart ached to see her carry it so bravely. He could read her easy as he pleased now, and it scared the hell out of him. Why? Because she looked like she was being decisive, and that had never fared well for him. At least, not in the short term.

Then, she spoke, her voice as even as he'd ever heard it, laced with the kind of determination that would have done him proud had her words not shaken him so terribly.

"What does Azkadellia want us to do?"

* * *

_Author's Note: I had to cut it here, lest it become too long and convoluted. Hopefully, the next chapter isn't long in coming. Encouragement always helps. _


	13. On the Edge of Dawn

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

**

* * *

**_When Last We Met: Refuge in Finaqua seems to have been but a mirage to the heroes - now five and finally reunited with the arrival of Tutor. With him, the old teacher has brought a chance to revive Lavender, an opportunity Cain fears too promising for DG to turn away from._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter Thirteen: On the Edge of Dawn**

"Tell me you're not really considering this," Cain said, his voice low as he walked DG through the hallways to her room.

"I could do that, but I'd probably be lying," she replied, disinterested.

"You can't honestly think there'll be somethin' out there for you to find." He slowed, so she gained a bit of a lead. She didn't seem to take notice.

"I don't know what I honestly think, _honestly,_" she said. "My brain overloaded a while ago, so I hope you know the way to my room because I think we're lost."

He smirked. "That bad?"

"Almost," she muttered, sounding a little unhappy, which was a promising sign – at least to him. She was a doubtful creature by nature, plagued by an adventurous streak and a conscience that stretched on into infinity. "I don't know what I'm going to find, or what I expect to find, if anything. Since when have I struck you as a person who knows what she's doing?"

"Been holding out hope for a while now."

She fell back a step at his pointed comment, but said nothing in return.

"You sound like you've made up your mind, then. Seems to me you've got a decent enough idea of what you're doing."

"If you say so." Her voice was tight; he realised, quite belatedly, that she was avoiding walking next to him, trying to fall back further now that he'd come up even with her. Then, she asked, taking a disconcerting amount of care, "You don't think we'll find anything?"

"You know, right up 'til the minute I found out your sister was hiding a bit of sealed evil under her skin, I would've said no," he said, taking no care to sugar-coat his words. "Now I can't say." She gave a noise of protest, but he cut her off. "Won't even try. Sorry, kiddo."

"Where's your sense of adventure?" she challenged.

Cain grit his teeth against a short-tempered, automatic response. "Lost it somewhere along the road," he said instead, a nasty heaviness in his chest giving a dull throb. "Listen, are you sure you aren't doing this just 'cause it's the one thing she don't want you to do?"

He didn't need to clarify who _she_ was, as DG stopped walking then, and he was forced to do the same, made to turn and face her in the dim light of an underused corridor. She'd narrowed her gaze at him, sizing him up. He wasn't too worried; he could take what she threw at him, he'd learned that early on enough.

"You think I want to do this out of spite?"

An indifferent sniff escaped him before he had time to think on it too long; it narrowed her gaze all the more, deepened her frown. "Tell me why then, DG, because damned if I can figure it out."

"You," she said slowly, "are a hypocrite."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really."

"You'd do the same if you were me," she said, confidence straightening her spine, squaring her shoulders. "And you wouldn't listen to a single thing I said against it, either."

"You'd best be careful," he said, not unkindly but his words were hard where his tone was not. "Don't presume to tell me what I'd do, princess."

"I don't presume," she said. "Don't forget, you taught me a thing or two about being stubborn. You'd do anything for your son. And you can't tell me that he wouldn't for you if it were reversed."

He shook his head. "DG, what you're trying to do is a helluva lot bigger than –"

"I don't care."

"You should," he said, louder than he'd meant to. "And you should think for a minute about the people that are gonna be affected."

Her arms went loosely about herself, and she looked much smaller suddenly, a little more like the girl he'd brought here and a little less like the woman that had been fighting with him since leaving the others behind in the drawing room, so many twists and turns back.

"I am," she said; simple, short, but her voice cracked all the same.

"No," he said, wanting to be easy on her despite his annoyance. "You're only thinking about your mother. And yourself."

"Is that wrong." It was no question; she tucked in the corner of her mouth, defiant as she refused to meet his eyes.

"I suppose that depends on your way of thinking," he said, and sighed when she cocked an expectant eyebrow at him, though her gaze still flit around. "By my way of thinking, kiddo, that's the kind of stubborn disregard that got me shot out a window. Something I'd do differently, given the chance to do it over."

"And here I thought it was your amazing people skills you had to thank for that."

He'd take the barb; if she was still slinging quips at him, she wasn't too far out of his reach yet. Cain couldn't pride himself on much when it came to DG, but he could navigate her moods easily enough. Staying one step ahead of her was another feat, and not one he claimed to have mastered. Time, it took time, though it was time he was fighting against giving, time that was against them both.

"All I'm sayin' is –"

"No, none of that," she said quickly, cleanly interrupting him, her lapse in strength overcome. "I don't need your voice-of-reason speech."

"Seems to me that you do."

She walked past him, shaking her head. She'd only gone a few feet at most before she stopped again, glanced over her shoulder at him with blue eyes sadder than he'd expected, washing him over in a wave of guilt. "I wish I didn't care what happens to her," she told him. "I'll throw myself out on a limb because that is what I don't care about."

He kept his mouth clamped tight, agreeing with her more completely than he'd ever let her know. Mutely, he lowered his chin, hoping she had more to say and wasn't expecting him to – hell, he didn't know what there was for him to say. She only offered up a weak smile, one that echoed her eyes.

"I want to show you something," she said, defeated like. She gave him little else other than a motion of her hand to follow, which he did without complaint, but with much reservation. She guided him through the halls easily enough, despite her earlier proclamation that she was all turned around. Upon reaching her room, she left the door wide open for him, but he paused on the threshold, giving himself a moment or two to breathe just a bit deeper before he cornered himself in a room with the one person who had it in her to undo him.

The room, as a room, was unremarkable; _simple, _compared to the spaces he'd been occupying in the Central Palace. There was nothing here that indicated this was DG's room, no bits of her strewn about, no effects to indicate she slept here, no trappings of an artist's life. He closed the door behind him, keeping it to his back, real and there, something.

She was rummaging; one of the first things he'd learned about her in the two months he'd spent in Central City before disappearing into the east was that when it came to DG, tidy didn't always mean organised, but soon enough, and with a smug little grin of triumph, she came up with the same blue-covered sketchbook he'd seen in her hands earlier that evening – had it only been mere hours ago? The lake seemed days behind him.

"Take a look at this, would you?" she asked. The wicked grin was gone, she was back to a blank slate, prettier for it.

He took the sketchbook, kept his eyes on her. "You sure it's all right?"

She nodded. "Just look."

Withholding reaction as best he could, he flipped the cover open. He didn't know what he was expecting – prophetic images of caves and old women, etchings of words and places that might even mean something in the (all too) near future – but what he found sank his heart.

A pencil sketch, a life sketch; his eyes were pulled first to the heavy angular lines that created an apex, an ominous focal point. It was almost impossible to draw his eyes away, to shift his focus to realise there was more to the picture, that the lines created a doorway, raised on a dais. The figure standing in the frame created by the thick, angry lines, underneath the apex, was easy to identify. Everything from the dress, the slender body, down to the light, delicate strokes DG had used spoke 'Lavender' to him, 'Queen' to whom he'd sworn to serve all his annuals as a Tin Man.

Just _Mother_, though, to DG.

Clarity cut its way into his eyes as he turned from page to page, seeing deeper into the illusive former queen than he'd ever though possible to one such as him. A broad spectrum of images, eyes and hands, a face turned in profile, complete sketches where she was almost lost, surrounded by too much detail, too many dark, slashing lines.

His brow furrowed as he looked on, as strokes of lead began to fade; shading diminished, becoming too light and all together inconsequential. He saw what DG saw, paper washed in vulnerability, uncertainty, and a woman not long for this world. When he reached the last, he let out a low whistle, closed the book, not wanting to dwell on the heartbreak on those pages.

"Deege –"

She shook her head at him; she came close, closer than necessary, to take the book from him. "You can call it stupid all you want," she said, her quiet voice filling the air between them, so very little air. "Or blindly foolish, too, I don't care."

"Really." His lips settled into a skeptical line. The dim gaslight was making the kid glow a colour that made him feel all at once at his ease, which in turn worked against him as the apprehension descended. A shimmer passed through her eyes as they shifted to look up at him, a momentary reflection and nothing more, yet still he swallowed hard, tried his best to remain at a distance even as she stood so near him.

"Just don't call it hopeless, okay? It's never hopeless."

Her eyes were still cast upward at him, blue-fire burning on his skin; he took a deep breath past the odd painlessness of it, as something inside smouldered low; a tug, an ache, a _something_ that he'd long forgotten existed, in himself or the wider world. She wasn't smiling, wasn't speaking, just holding him down with empty expectation, wanting not his blessing but his acceptance, and he realised – very much too late – that she'd never needed his blessing, nor anyone's.

All she'd been waiting for was someone to point her in the right direction; her feet, her heart, her Light would handle the rest.

"I wouldn't," he said, forcing a weak, lopsided smile. "I wouldn't call it hopeless."

_Otherwise, I wouldn't be offering my services on this witless venture, _he thought, knowing all the while he was opening a door he might not be able to close again, not if she could get even a toe in. And there was more chance with every passing second that he was sealing his fate that night, as those sky eyes of hers went down and the faintest trace of a smile spread across her lips, into her cheeks. Still too close, with nothing to say, lingering with the damn sketchbook of afflicted regret held between them. Sighing, he took it from her, her uncrossed arms falling loosely to her sides as he tossed it lightly onto a nearby tabletop, as if it were not weighted with a daughter's debts. Her eyes followed his every move.

"We'll talk more on this tomorrow," he said, and meant every word. "Let daylight clear our heads, and we'll figure out what's to be done. No doubt the mutt's already two steps ahead."

She didn't smile as he'd intended her to, though it near split his head in two thinking on why it mattered at the moment, considering the hell she was putting them on the brink of, the frustration he felt with her, the tutor, the whole damned family of troublemakers. Not to mention that 'we' word that seemed more and more to be sneaking its way into his vocabulary, despite his desires otherwise.

The girl was still too close, close enough for him to know she was focusing intently on his shirt buttons to avoid looking up into his face, where she might see the stubble on his jaw, such was her proximity to him. Sighing deeply, Cain reached up a tentative hand to sweep her dark hair away from her forehead, leaned down to place a light kiss on her fair skin, his movements so fast and sure that when she'd glanced up in surprise, breath catching in her throat, he'd already pulled away, stepped back. Their eyes met just as he nodded his head to her.

"Get some shut eye, darlin'."

* * *

When the first white light appeared in the sky after the darkest night Cain could remember in a long while, he was not to be found in his bed, nor anywhere near it. He stood in the creeping chill of early morning, watching that pale streak of dawn grow brighter and brighter from the stone terrace of the palace. He was alone, but not for long, he knew. Eventually, someone would seek him out; someone always did.

The veil of dark lifted, and the world slowly grew to grey. The lake was a pane of glass; lazy mist rose off the surface, hovering above the water with no breeze to blow it away, nor to break the spell of stillness the lake cast.

He'd never found any such calm coming here.

Behind him, the doors were opened wide, the entrance hall beyond dark and empty. There were no lights from within to call him back, no guards stationed out of sight. The palace of Finaqua slept the sleep of the dead, like its once-upon queen, fading and weak and breathing slow.

Time was running out for Lavender, that was for damn certain. But he would not, for even a sliver of an instant, think that there was something could be done for her. Nothing that he or any of the others, DG most of all, could do. Chasing rumour and legend through the forest and mountains was folly. But it wasn't his decision to make.

He wished that it was wisdom guiding him, or at the very least ignorance. He wanted more than anything to be held back by something more than his own uncertainty, something tangible that he could latch onto, a vantage point from which to act and decide. No, no – cowardice was a damned slippery thing, nothing to hold onto, nothing there when he needed it most.

"_What does Azkadellia want us to do?"_

Us.

Cain had always been a firm believer that the best defence against imminent danger began with a level head. Having people at your back that you trusted never hurt, either. _Us,_ DG'd said. She trusted them, her friends and guardians, just as her mother had trusted them to keep her safe, just as her sister trusted them now to continue to do so. Tutor, whom Az had sent in place of herself; Glitch, eager to please and itching for a bit of fun; Raw, who would not be removed from DG's side when she was about to dive into something inevitably stupid. And himself, Wyatt, wholly divided and unsure.

The stars near the horizon began to fade, bleeding into the whiteness of dawn until they blinked out altogether. The familiar glow that preceded first sun-up would come soon enough. Already, the lyrelings that nested in the maze had started up their sharp, clear trills of morningsong.

He wondered if she was sleeping, or if she too were awake, staring out her window at the faint brightness on the horizon.

The footsteps echoing across the hall behind him were light and quick, and they brought Cain's thoughts abruptly down to the cold morning, away from a far-off bedroom where thoughts ought not to be. He didn't turn, didn't move, though his unease had him wanting to downright fidget.

"I had you pegged for running," Glitch said with a laugh as he came to a graceful stop at Cain's back.

Cain snorted. "Got nowhere to run to."

"Or perhaps, nothing to run from, this time at least."

He said nothing as the darkness around him continued to abate, oh so nimbly melting into light.

"Does that mean you're with us then, Cain?"

_Us._

"I suppose it does," was his reply. "Although I hope to hell this isn't what you brought me here for, genius, I mean it."

"Swear on the slippers, I was not privy to any of this information," Glitch said, his voice suddenly so serious that Cain glanced back over his shoulder with a smile. The silent reassurance was enough. "I was close enough to Lavender that Azkadellia probably didn't want to risk it. I don't like keeping secrets, they give me the most terrible migraines."

Cain's smile disappeared; he didn't find this at all surprising, as the man had literally had his secrets ripped out of his head, no wonder they gave the poor fool a headache. He looked back out over the lake, watching as the murky waters were leeched of blackness, the surface slowly beginning to glow an unnatural silver. Sunsrise soon.

"So where do we go from here then," he said, far out of his depth. The only one whose knowledge he'd ever have sought was gone, incinerated in the tower furnace, no words, no respects, nothing but laughter as another traitor burned.

"Unless you want to go bushwhacking through the Black Forest, looking for runes in the ruins of Deadwood Fall –" Here, he stopped and chuckled, "runes in the ruins," then promptly shook it off and continued on as if he'd not just derailed. "Our best bet is likely to be the elders of the eastern tribes; an oral history survives much better than one transcribed with paper and ink."

East. Exactly the direction Cain would have run, leaving them all behind if he'd ever been so inclined. He was bound now, though, whether he liked to admit it or not, and Gods above, did he not. It was not obligation, as DG felt, that compelled him to stay. Damn his own self to hell, but he couldn't put his finger on it, his elusive reasonings hiding from his common sense that would put an end to the entire ordeal in a heartbeat.

"Do you expect to just waltz into a village of guild fighters and start drilling them about folk stories?" he asked dryly.

"I'd forgotten what a downer you are," Glitch replied; Cain could clearly imagine the accompanying eye-roll.

"No you didn't, 'cause you've pointed it out 'bout five times since I came back."

There was a pause, and then a shuffle, the soft rustling of limbs and fabric. "I thought that part was best left up to DG. The waltzing, and the drilling." Then a nervous laugh. When Cain turned, he saw Glitch swinging his arms to and fro, as if trying to gain momentum to jump off the terrace. "Or we'll think of something," his friend added hastily, nodding his head with wide eyes, agreeing with himself.

"This could go bad," Cain muttered, turning his back again to stare out at the lake and the ever-growing dawn.

"Or maybe," Glitch said slowly, "it might be prudent to give her something to do already, instead of asking her to sit down and shut up. What's it going to hurt? It'll be good for DG and good for all of us. Idle hands and all that."

Cain shook his head, eyes going skyward. _What's it going to hurt. _

"Besides –" And here, Glitch's comforting hand descended on his shoulder, a brief touch but nonetheless meaningful. To think the day had come when Wyatt was the one in need of encouragement. "– it'll be fun."

More fateful words, he was sure he'd never heard.


	14. That Northerly Wind

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

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* * *

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_When Last We Met: A plan has been set in motion. The departure is almost upon Cain and his companions as they ready themselves to visit the villages of the Eastern guild, but time is against them as Lavender lingers near death. Cain remains cynical about their chances of success, directly in opposition to DG, but this tension is the least of his worries._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter Fourteen: That Northerly Wind**

Something inside DG was renewed, and it vexed Cain to no end over the course of the day, that first day after the decision had been made to toss caution out the window and undertake some impossible feat of daring that would most likely cost all of them more than they'd stopped to consider.

It wasn't until the day wore on however, and their thieves-in-the-night departure drew invariably closer, that he realised he was far from the only one thinking a bit harder on DG and Tutor's endeavour. The easy, simple pace of Finaqua carried on unabated, the warm suns and lapping shores unconcerned with their urgency, ever casting the illusions of peace and forgetfulness.

Far from pacified, Cain shut himself indoors. Sleep was a long gone luxury when his thoughts were racing so fast that there was no hope in hell of sorting through it all; there was nothing to do but make ready for the road, and he was more than relieved to know that the others were of like mind. That, at least, he could bury himself in to sidetrack his idling thoughts.

Glitch and Tutor spent most of the afternoon bent over every map they could get their hands on, outdated sheets that showed a land not yet torn by war, nor choked by a tyrant's grasp. If anything, the landscape remained the same, distance never changed. Their greatest obstacle – aside from DG's better known face – was the unknown state of the villages marked along the routes. Had they been erased, abandoned? How many supporters of the New Resistance were they likely to run into? It was a risk, but not the biggest they'd encountered along their collective way.

Wyatt tailed DG for most of the day, a charge that Raw had also undertaken, so that her shadow was always filled with their quiet presence. While he was concerned with DG, his thoughts became more preoccupied with the Viewer, and the fact that he'd yet to weigh in on what was happening. Not one for words himself, Cain could understand the feelings of futility in arguing with the inevitable.

Still...

Dinner was a light and quiet affair, with no words said lest the shattering of the unspoken bear down upon them. All had been decided, there was little to do but wait for the suns to sink, the sky to darken. The seconds ticked away so slowly as they five sat together around a long, heavily-laden table, the food barely touched, the wine drunk and mulled over and drunk some more.

North by the Brick Route, to the very edge of Lake Country and the surrounding marshes; by dawn, the village of Byvasser, off the Route by half a span. Rest, stock up on necessary provisions; cross the gorge by late afternoon and be on the boundaries of Papay land just after sunsdown.

Time was no ally in this, but Cain knew he wouldn't have to push any of them, least of all DG. The burden of her mother's life would hang heavily over her head, and it would drive her forward. He knew that all too well himself, though it wasn't exactly something he was about to share by the fire – and it was just about the very thing she'd try wheedle out of him, too. Honest truth, in all her selfish distractions, she seemed to have forgotten she was still angry with him.

It was no consolation – oh, how that one little lie could burn.

* * *

It was as simple as the girl announcing she wanted to tour the southern lowlands; just that request, those words, and the staff throughout the palace near tripped over themselves trying to please and accommodate her.

It was as easy as saying she'd heard there were about a hundred lakes around here. He'd told her that months ago, her search for the emerald still jerking the ground out from underneath of her at every half-turn. She'd led them all to the right lake, the true lake without an ounce of effort, memories dragging her along under the delusion of honest luck. The memories had brought them here, to Finaqua; there were no memories to lead her now, no trail to follow, just gut instinct and common sense.

Gods protect them.

After dinner, the others had melted away into the darkness and the quiet. Mere hours now from departing, all seemed to be battling demons deep within, trying their damnedest to take victory over their inner struggles, to come out with a clear view on what they wanted, what had to be done, and how far they were willing to go.

Without question, to the end of the route, for her. Without fail, all of them.

He told himself it wasn't just her he was looking out for; reconnected to himself or not, Glitch could slip into his scatter-brained reveries without batting an eye. And there was no denying, though it shamed Wyatt to admit it, that he couldn't quite bring himself to trust the mutt's intention – Cain was sure he'd be stepping in at some point to stop the means that would justify whatever end DG and Tutor sought. Somewhere... somewhere along their road.

"How'd it come to this?" he asked the old man, the two of them standing on a back terrace looking out over the lake. Dusk, clandestine, cloaking the land in shadow, hiding the shifting surface of the water, the green expanses of marshes beyond; only the Ruby Mountains, endless black silhouettes stretching across the horizon, gave any semblance of the familiarity of daylight as the glow at the world's edge faded ever away.

"What do you mean?" Tutor asked, not bothering to mask the disdain.

"This," Cain said, gesturing to himself, and then to Tutor. His hands went back to the anchor of his belt. "The five of us, here, especially you. DG, perfectly set to disappear without raising suspicion. Some long-shot chance, some magic answer."

There was no response, so he dug further.

"The girl was best left in Central City."

"That would be the most obvious conclusion, yes, and a point that's wearing quite thin," Tutor said slowly. He stared out in the direction of the water, the lights illuminating the terrace from the dining hall behind them cut very little of the dark beyond the steps that led down to the grassy field. Damn strange place to put a palace.

"But this is about more than just keeping her safe, now isn't it? More than using the Resistance as a cover."

"Mister Cain," Tutor said, holding up a hand. Wyatt was barely able to control the deep grimace that settled over his face, biting back an impatient growl with difficulty. "I can assure you with no amount of uncertainty that were Lavender to know of what we – what _I –_ have suggested to DG, well... to say she would disagree is an understatement."

"I doubt that." The edge in his voice dropped low, and he squared his eyes on the old man. "How long you been playing this close to the chest?"

Another dramatically drawn out pause followed, where Tutor made it a point to first sigh as if deliberating a greatness, then look away, mull a bit over what he'd say. Cain didn't buy any of it, and he knew the mutt was well aware of this fact, too. Still, there were appearances to consider.

"Eight months wasn't long enough," Tutor conceded, knowing his failing and shaken by it to the very core. "I tried – I tried everything I could to find something to somehow reverse what has happened to the Qu– to Lavender. To think that the best I could come up with is the equivalent of asking DG to send a letter to Santa Claus. I haven't Astor's skill, or his resources, let alone his power."

Cain shifted uncomfortably; the emotion that connected the old teacher to the task at hand, no matter how well concealed, sullied every word that came from his mouth. All of it was tainted by guilt and regret, mirroring something Wyatt tried his damnedest every day to keep buried.

"I just want to know if you'd considered the real risk here," Cain said, pausing to swallow away the weakness that drove up his throat.

"If you're worried about raising DG's hopes, then –"

"I'm not worried about the kid," Cain said sharply. "What happens if you actually find what – no, who – you're lookin' for. What then? You can't tell me you haven't actually had the time to think about who you might actually find."

Tutor glared at him hard, as if he'd been insulted. He shook his head, prolonging the silence – and in that moment, there was a – well, there was no other way to describe it than a _scrape_, the sound of something hard against stone. Cain cocked an ear in the direction of the sound, catching the flickering light of the terrace lanterns at the very edge of his vision.

The old man spoke. "There's the possibility there will be no answers at the end of this road." Cain was barely listening, but he didn't seem to take notice. "Perhaps we'll turn back before we even reach the end, but I swore to myself to follow it as long as I was able."

"And now the kid's done the same, thanks to your stories," Cain said distractedly. He glanced over his shoulder; a shadow shifted, darkened as it danced on the edge of the circle of light in which the two men stood. "I follow her; don't think for a second that it's you – or Lavender – that I'm there for."

"It never crossed my mind," Tutor said. The abrupt, misplaced _scrape_ again, and then the old man's sombre voice. "We meet the others in an hour; I trust you won't disappear before then."

Cain frowned, the barb unwelcome and cutting straighter and deeper than he liked. "How about you worry about how you're gonna get the easterners to tell you anything."

Tutor gave a smile, a meaningful look that didn't bode well for anybody. "A little faith, Mr. Cain, just a little faith." He turned and walked slowly back into the palace, head high with the confidence of his own belief firmly in place, while Cain was left in the chill of evening's dark places.

He waited. A minute or two passed, with nothing but the gentle lapping of water against the banks of the lake, the breeze playing through the mess of reeds that clogged the shore. Quiet. The illusion of serenity. Water and wind – shadow, too. He could never quite forget the shadows that forever danced just out of sight, waiting and watching as he did.

This one, however, had human eyes. Sky eyes.

"I can still hear your feet," he said, staring out into the ever-descending dark beyond the terrace. Behind him, there was a disappointed sigh.

"Just my feet?"

He nodded, his ear catching the faint hum of her magic as she let go her spell. "You'll learn to get a handle on that fidget of yours."

DG was frowning as she sidled up to him. "Then I'll keep practising."

Her answer surprised him somehow, and there was no explaining it away. She wasn't indignant that he'd criticised her, and that spoke volumes to him, even if she hadn't outright admitted to wanting to do better. It wasn't as if she were courting his approval. It wouldn't do him any good to tie her every word to that undercurrent of unspoken complication that ran between them.

She said no more for the first few minutes, watching out into the dark as he did; the distant haze on the horizon had all but disappeared, night finally overthrowing the last trace of day.

They'd be on the road soon. It was heavy on his mind.

Hers too, apparently. "Do you really think we'll meet that much trouble?"

He sighed. "It's hard to say," he said. He'd promised her to never call it _hopeless_. Trouble just made it all the more interesting, didn't it? Hadn't Glitch said, grinning all the while, that this could be _fun_? An out and out lie. The grey pall of Lavender would haunt them, she was the cause of it all. No, not fun. The smile of Glitch's was just emptiness disguised.

"Tell me anyway," she said.

"It's not that easy, darlin'," he said, and glanced down at her. She was watching him closely now, the dark over the lake not nearly as interesting as him, and what he had to say. Too bad he had no platitudes for her. "It's hard to say because I just don't know."

"None of us know," was her response. "We can just –"

"Figure it out as we go," he finished for her.

Her mouth settled into a thin line. "I find your lack of faith disturbing."

"Seems to be the common occurrence tonight," he said. She opened her mouth to argue with him, but he held up a hand to stem whatever she was about to say. "Let mine be the head with the common sense, kid. The way I see it, you and the mutt can pull together enough faith for the rest of us."

"You think so?"

Cain put his hand on her shoulder. She stiffened as his thumb rested on her collarbone, fingers brushing her back. "If I've got to have faith in somethin', it might as well be you."

She blushed, and she lowered her eyes as to avoid his. He sighed, gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, let her go before – well, just before.

"Are we almost ready to go then?" she asked; her voice was tight, uncomfortable. She still wasn't looking at him.

"We can be on the road before the hour's up, if that's what you want." He knew he had to make it clear to her that she was in charge of this expedition, that they followed her. He never expected her to fall back, exactly, but he never wanted her to doubt the importance of her decisions.

"It is," she said. A smile ghosted across her lips, but it wasn't meant for him. It was gone as quickly as she could be if she willed it, all shadow and scrape. Before another minute had passed, she'd walked away, heading back into the palace through the wide-open double doors.

He stayed. Just for a minute, he told himself. He took a breath, bringing the damp, clear air deep into himself.

This was the calm before the storm. This was the quiet before the chaos.

Best enjoy it while it lasted.

* * *

The way the four had come, five now left Finaqua.

DG was smiling when they'd left the stables behind. There was hope in her eyes, hope for her mother. "Come on," she had said to them, "miles to go before we sleep."

Was she that optimistic, or was she just trying to mask her anxieties?

The maze was soon put behind them. The endless stretch of woods and water, so many small lakes that he'd once known the names of. Along the way, some came back to him, rising up out of the mess of his memories, tokens of a life lived and put aside for another.

_Keepsake Lake. Bywater. Aquus Basin. Lake Miremere._

How many times had he walked this road?

The others were quiet as they stole through the night, hiding from no one but hiding nonetheless. The Brick Route – this far south barely more than a winding hard-beaten trail cutting through the woods – would carry them northward until one of the countless intersections they constantly came upon became their path to the small village of Byvasser on the southern ridge of the gap.

_Sleep in a bed. Eat a hot meal. You'll be sleeping on the ground before long; nights on the road aren't as easy as they used to be. But you remember that from the last time, don't you?_

He spent most of the journey trying to muzzle his internal voices. Most nights, a bottle of Qualdin whiskey might have silenced them well enough. Problem was, this wasn't most nights; worse off, it was only the first.

* * *

_Author's Note: Sorry about the delay in writing this. I read a story a few weeks ago that really turned everything I know upside down, and it was a long time recovering. Also, Christmas with five kids is a kind of hell I would never, ever wish on anyone, ever. Leave me one if you're so inclined, I could really use the pick-me-up. Still two more days before they go back to school..._


	15. Byvasser and Beyond

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

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_When Last We Met:The five heroes, DG and Tutor in the lead and Cain following reluctantly behind, have begun their northward progress. With the very near possibility of Lavender succumbing before they return, they hurry to the villages of the Eastern Guild, hoping against hope that the elders may be able to set them on the path to finding the 'good witch', Glinda.  
_

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**Chapter Fifteen: Byvasser and Beyond**

Cain could hear the rush of the Guiding River. It was a part of life in Byvasser, the constant presence of the river that had taken the millennia to carve its way through the land, cutting the gorge deep and wide. A short walk through the woods on the north end of the village would lead straight to the southern ridge of the Crack in the O.Z.

A nice little place, and not at all abandoned, as had been a concern. They had made good time and arrived before the rising of the first sun, just as the darkness on the horizon began to give way to grey. To their advantage, there was no one on the street to see their arrival, but for a lone lawman on patrol with his dog.

The inn was nothing impressive, but there was delight on DG's tired face, and the zipperhead's, too.

Two rooms, three platinum. Just the day, yes, he's sure, just the day. Yes, she does look a bit like the princess, doesn't she? Hear that one a lot.

* * *

Sleep was an old friend, one that had remained ever the same over the annuals. The warm embrace of a few good hours, he remembered it well; as was the way of things, it was never fully appreciated. When he awoke, eyes burning in protest, he was sore from the night's tense ride. That ache in his shoulders, another old friend. He wouldn't be lonely on this trip, that was for damned sure.

He was careful about getting up, and it wasn't to favour his shoulders; his false awakening by Lavender's hand two days past had him playing it all very cautiously. Whether or not her words had held any meaning, he'd yet to figure out – not for lack of trying. He wasn't up to the challenge of unravelling that woman's half truths, especially conveyed by her unconventional means. A dream, after all, could just be a _dream_; he'd rather his own crazy over hers.

Still, it wasn't something easily dismissed.

"_She cannot go back."_

The farthest thing from DG's mind now, returning to Central City. Best to think on that just now, wasn't it?

It was on this endeavour that Cain concentrated his efforts while the others slept on in the rented beds at the inn. He didn't envy them their peace or their slumber; their waking hours were just as plagued as his, and he wished them all the reprieve that blissful unconsciousness could provide.

The fresh air outside was all the reprieve he needed for himself. The afternoon was cool; the sky had clouded over, turned a pale, imperfect white. No more peculiar than a lifetime of afternoons that had come before, but somehow this one stood out; not the sky or the wind or even the continuous rush of the river beyond. Nothing in him could pinpoint the difference, just a sense and no true knowing.

It had been a long, long time since he'd risen not knowing what the waking hours would bring. Once upon, he'd been condemned to spend the remainder of his days stark still on his feet, watching over and over as everything he'd ever known was destroyed by his own failure to protect his family. His release had been the miracle he'd never allowed himself to hope for; the week that had followed still brought about a sense of surrealism, and the memory of a deep-seated numbness blurring his peripheries.

There couldn't be harm in living in this moment; almost, it brought a smile to his face. _Almost_.

The walk through the village was one he had taken a hundred times before, on a hundred little dirt-tracks masquerading as main streets from one end of the Zone to the other and back again. There was nothing here – _nothing – _to make it stand out in his mind, but it was with a twinging sense of familiarity that he made his way to the general store on the north end, near the woods that separated the village proper from the precarious ridge. There was nothing to make _him_ stand out, but he did; stranger in a small town couldn't go unnoticed for long. Off the route and south of the gorge, the people here probably didn't see many travellers. No stares, though, no whispers either; an intrigued glance, perhaps, was the worst of it he saw. Outside of Central, he was nigh on unrecognisable, just a nameless face, and he counted that as a blessing; the first of many, he hoped.

He was able to provision their group to the best of his ability; the cash to fund it all, he'd never bothered to ask where it came from. There'd be a seemingly never-ending supply of platinum, he was certain. The notes had found their way into his hands from Glitch, from Tutor, and that was good enough for him.

The merchant behind the counter was gristled and unkempt but he knew his trade, and in the end Cain walked away feeling that he hadn't been ripped off an inordinate amount for this far off the route. There was no delivery boy; instead, Cain found himself being accompanied to the stable by the merchant's daughter, a sweet blonde thing around his son's age that didn't seem to mind being used as a pack-mule. She was cautious in his presence, her father seemed to have taught her that much, all shy eyes and fleeting smiles as she followed dutifully after him.

"So where're you heading, mister?"

"Out east for a few days," he said. He motioned for her to set the supplies down just inside the open drive-bay doors. The stable-master was nowhere in sight.

"You sure are brave."

He glanced back at the girl; she was dusting her hands off on her skirt. "How's that."

"I heard stories of settlers getting scalped out that way. My pa says –"

Cain cut her off, holding up a hand and giving her a hard look. She promptly shut up, pursing her lips in a way that DG might have, reminding him all too clearly how young yet the princess was. Sighing at this wayward thought, giving it a shake out of his head, he eased up a bit on the girl.

"Thing about the Eastern Guild," he said, "is that they like to puff up their feathers to make themselves look threatening. Truth be told, kid, it wouldn't take even a little thing like you more than five minutes to outrun a whole hunting party."

He wondered if that one bold-faced lie to this girl would send him to hell. She was right to be afraid, and her father was right to warn her. The bloodthirsty little vultures of the east weren't too kind to trespassers, and he was sure down to his marrow that blonde little girls were no exception.

She was smiling at him. Damn it.

"What's your name, kid?" he asked.

"Devolah."

"Here," he said, and dug two platinum notes out of the billfold Glitch had stuffed into his hands while they were still in Finaqua. "Thanks for the help."

She started to shake her head.

"Just do me one favour, would you? Stay the hell out of the east."

The girl – Devolah – reached out a tentative hand and took the money. "Thank you, sir. I will." She backed out of the stable, knocking a shoulder into the frame before turning on her heel and disappearing.

Cain hung his head, letting loose a low whistle before brushing the whole thing off and setting himself to what needed doing. Work was an honest distraction, one that had always proved blissfully successful for him. There was no time to think about the skimp of a girl who'd reminded him too wholly of DG, let alone for his thoughts to meander down that path to places he normally forced them away from. He thought only of rope and kerosene, bedrolls and food and canteens.

He'd managed to have everything packed by the time Raw and DG came looking for him; he was just paying up the stable-master when the familiar voices and shuffling feet approached.

"There you are."

"Where else was I gonna be?" he asked. His eyes were met with a brighter blue than he'd expected, though there were shadows under her eyes, and a paleness to her cheeks that made him think twice – almost immediately, much to his dismay – about how hard and far he'd planned on pushing today.

She didn't answer him; some point or another, she was going to have to. He could wait.

* * *

Once upon a time.

He knew that story by heart. Fanciful fairy stories for mothers to tell their sons, tuck them into bed with visions of divine protection keeping the darkness at bay.

'She watches over you,' the mother would say to her owl-eyed boy peeking out from under the covers. 'She watches over all of us. We are safe in her arms.'

Guardian, goddess, all magic and warmth and light.

His mother had told him the stories. Adora had told them to Jeb. Perhaps even Lavender had whispered them to DG in some far-off palace room, little girl so small in a bed too big. Lavender's mother before her. Every generation of Gale.

For every goodness, there is wickedness in return. For every light that shines, there is a darkness to fight back. One cannot exist without the other. These were the lessons of his father, the cynic, the disbeliever. He'd never put faith into the stories that his wife had whispered to their son and daughter – no, he'd never put faith in much at all. The man – his hard and human father – never lived to see vindication. His wife had not lived to see such destruction, to see the Darkness overtake the Light. Both of his parents, dead before the war. Sister scattered to the wind; if she'd lived, he hoped she'd gotten out of the O.Z. He didn't search for her; coward that he was, afraid of the truth. If there was a cold patch of earth with his baby sister buried underneath, he hoped never to lay eyes on it.

They'd all lost. Family, friends, homes, brains... it didn't matter, because the emptiness rang true and deep and clear inside all of them. It bound them together in ways Cain had never thought possible, but then, he'd never had friends such as these. He watched them all as they rode ahead of him in single file.

Raw, who'd healed his wounds even knowing that the Tin Man would have left him in the Papay fields to die; Glitch, who'd dragged him off the ice where he'd have surely died of exposure; and DG... DG who had opened the suit against all common sense, trusting when however many others had passed by the homestead over the annuals, scared off by Adora's pleading, her screams.

He'd have turned and left. He would have told himself, 'not my problem'. He would have kept walking.

Not DG.

Complicated ties, criss-crossed and knotted, wrapped around their wrists and knees and necks, locking them together. It should be no surprise, least of all to him, that they were out here; caught between the Fields of the Papay and the gorge that cut across the face of the southern province like a jagged scar.

In a few days, when they reached the deepest parts of the forests of the east, so very close to where he'd lost everything – and had found, inexplicably, his second chance at life – when they were lost in the woods, when the Eastern Guild bore down upon them; if, through some miracle, DG gained audience with the elders, what would she learn? What would they _all _learn?

History, after all, is written by the victors. DG and Glitch, even Tutor who had begun it all, were chasing after a history lesson.

_After all_, history had never told of such sealed evil as what two little girls stumbled across at Finaqua.

Such were his dark, encompassing thoughts that he did not notice Raw had slowed, and it wasn't until they were side-by-side on the narrow road and there was a sizeable gap in the line that Cain brought his attention back from his own introspections and down to reality where it belonged.

Raw was staring ahead, a content look on his leonine face that almost had Cain envious of such internal peace. Like the calm surface that hides the darkest depths, however, he knew better than to be taken in.

"What are words people say," the Viewer said, as conversationally as he'd ever managed, Cain was quite sure, "about mud and sticks."

Cain raised an eyebrow in confusion but it only took all of ten seconds to work it out. "Did you just call me –"

"Kinder than what DG says."

Cain laughed; an honest to goodness laugh that turned up the corners of his mouth, brought it straight up to his eyes. He could almost say that it _hurt_ to laugh so suddenly, unexpectedly. Or maybe he needed it, and badly. Whatever the reason, whatever the cause, he threw an appreciative smile at Raw, shaking his head.

"DG been talkin' about me, has she?"

It was Raw's turn to shake his head. "Not with words."

"Most people wouldn't like havin' their thoughts eavesdropped on," Cain said, trying mightily to shift some of the blame off his own conscience.

"Not listening," Raw said, "feeling. Different, very different."

"I'm not going to pretend to understand you," Cain said, wanting the conversation to come to an end.

"Won't say, but you do."

Cain grit his teeth hard against a response. There was no arguing with someone who had a _feeling_ what would be said before it was. Even keeping his mouth shut tight was a reply in its own right. It seemed to him that the best way out that didn't involve a bullet to his own skull was a change of course.

"You got any wisdom on how the road's gonna be the next couple of days?"

Raw chuckled, a breathy and inaudible sound; Cain read it more in his face. "Cain wants weather?"

"Among other things."

"Things Raw cannot give."

Cain took a moment to compose himself before responding, though he was sure his frustration radiated hot enough to burn the Viewer that rode beside him. "What can you give me?"

Raw smiled again, though it was a weak and fleeting moment. "Nothing that Raw's to give. Hope or help, every person find these things by own self."

"Then why are we followin' her?" he asked, more harshly than he meant to.

"Love," came Raw's reply, with a shrug of the shoulders that said it was the easiest answer in the world.

What he was afraid of. Could it really be so simple.

* * *

_Author's Note: Shall we talk business? I've been thinking about writing a third installment to my Emerald 'Verse stories once I've finished with this one (which is just about halfway through). My main concern can be summed up in one word: overkill? I'd love to hear opinions on this from people who read "Of Light" and "Until the Fall". Do you think Cain and DG have one more adventure in them? _


	16. Straight on 'til Morning

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

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_When Last We Met: Cain watches as DG, Glitch, and Tutor are driven by devotion, guilt, and love in an ill-conceived attempt to help Lavender, though the woman sleeps on without hope of waking or recovery. However, one last obstacle stands between the companions and the answers they seek from the guild of the east._

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**Chapter Sixteen: Straight on 'til Morning  
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The Fields of the Papay. _Again_.

Cain had nothing against the place. Really. The Papay were gentle enough now, like they'd been when he was a boy. There was also no denying how beautiful the fields were this annual-time. The land had been dead and stark and bare a whole seven annuals before he'd gone into the suit; he'd come out to find nothing had changed.

Turned out all he'd needed to do was be a little patient.

In the days since they'd last passed through, the winds had scattered the dried petals across the surrounding lands; ten minutes prior to reaching the edge of the fields, the ground was covered in a fine layer of white that reminded him all too much of sugared snow. The bricks of the route had all but disappeared.

He didn't call them to a stop, not when the forest ceased so abruptly to give way to grassy meadow, nor when the ground became carpeted in so many felled petals. It was only when Glitch, in the lead, hesitated just beyond the first line of trees that Cain made a half-hearted excuse about resting the horses.

It'd be in everyone's best interest to get this figured out quick.

_Never step off the Brick Route_. The cardinal rule of making it safely through the Fields of the Papay; the _only _rule. He'd had it drummed into his brain as a child, as had every other youngster that had grown up in the Zone. Long before famine and war had driven the peaceful grangers of the field to predation, the Papay had been known as ill-tempered hosts, barely tolerating the presence of humans on their land. Attacks were uncommon and deaths were rare, but the well-travelled roadbed was a person's only hope of secure passage.

Then again, there was the addled notion of stepping off the route and cutting clear cross the fields to the northeast, easily shaving a full day off their journey and avoiding the long, open stretch of road that would carry them too near Central City. Sparse woods and a dozen different crossroads was more a risk – in Cain's mind, anyhow – than slipping through the very heart of the fields.

"We need to be thinking about staying as far as possible from the city," he said, once he had most all eyes on him.

"Well," said Glitch slowly, taking on the stance of a man who knew what he was talking about, arms across his chest and chin high, "we can get off the road once we're out of the southern expanse." He gave a little nod, a smug grin, waiting for Cain to agree with him. When he was greeted with a stony silence, the best Cain had without an ounce of effort, Glitch continued, sounding less certain. "We could find a smaller byway that doesn't take us so close to Central City as the route would."

_Could_, Cain thought, _but won't. _

"If we cut a path straight northeast," Cain said, "we can be on the far side before the suns come up."

Over the annuals, he would never ceased to be amazed at the honest faces of his friends; none could hide a thing. Oh, the girl tried as ever, and the headcase – former, yes – would slowly come to perfect a courtier's mask once again, but that day on the road, whether uncertainty or intrigue, he saw it all plain as day on their winter pale faces.

"It would make for a good short-cut," Glitch said, "no fuss, no muss."

DG's eyes were wide, and she regarded her friend as if his brain had gone absent again. "No muss? Are you kidding me?"

Cain hid a smirk, turning his head away on the pretence of watching deeper into the orchard. "Out of all of us, you're the one with the least to fret over, kiddo. Maybe the rest of us can bank on your good luck." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her wave him off.

"What does that mean?" she asked, just not to him.

Glitch stammered out an answer. "It means – well, it means the Papay will respect your magic. I think."

As Cain turned back, DG was looking round for Toto, but the mutt was nowhere to be found. At no point in the last ten minutes had he seen the shifter slip away; as the old man had decided to remain small and bothersome instead of, well, large and bothersome, Cain decided he really needed to keep a closer watch on him; he'd spend the better part of the night berating himself on it, in the end to no avail.

"I think if we're quiet and stick to the trails, the Papay'll give us plenty of space," Cain said.

However, it was Raw who did the convincing, climbing silently back into his saddle and watching the rest of them wordlessly, waiting for DG to lead so that he might follow. When the Viewer's eyes met his own, Cain could see enough confidence there to make him feel properly ashamed of his own desires to get this over and done. He clung hard and fast to the obligation of DG's safety. Told himself, however successfully, that it was the reason he'd remained, because she hadn't yet ordered him away.

"Whatever happened to slow and breathing?" was DG's only response as she clambered gracelessly into her saddle. She caught his eye, gave him a rueful smile.

Huh. Those sounded like his words. Funny how she had a way of spitting them back out at him.

Or not.

The suns were on the descent when they left the straight and narrow that was the Brick Route, heading east away from the glare, that lonely warmth on their backs a gentle guide. The eerie quiet that surrounded them was welcome, all the clop of hooves on brick long behind them.

As he rode, Cain couldn't recall such an early vibrancy amidst the trees; the leaves had begun to unfurl, the overreaching branches creating arches of spring green and lazy afternoon sunslight. The glimpses of sky were few and far between, the bright blue dulling as the hours passed. He saw no movement, no lurking shadow at the periphery of his vision to justify that creeping sensation of being watched, just that nag of an inkling that wouldn't let him be.

Strange, that a thriving orchard would set him so on edge as compared to the dessicated waste of an annual past – no, just eight and a half months. Did he feel more comfortable in such stark, empty places? What was it about second chances that made him mourn the loss of the first?

This was how the hours melted away, with more doubt and gnawing agitation than he'd forced himself to endure in a long, long time. If there was cause for reprieve, he paid it no mind; sometimes – well, sometimes, cause or not, a man could deny himself the easy way out.

As the afternoon turned to shade, the Papay began to better make known their presence, slinking across the trails far ahead; always just within sight, but too far off to be a concern. He said nothing to alert the others, no use in putting one more fear into their heads; he needn't question if they'd seen the glint of their eyes in the thickening blue, not a one of them would've kept it to themselves if they had.

It was a wayward path that they cut through the fields, occasionally altering their course when it seemed they were veering a little too far in the wrong direction. One trail blended into another, one monotonous, endless row after another. Nothing as far as he could see but twisted trunks and tangled branches, the quick glimpses of a scout far in the distant haze.

Night fell; summer darkness, incomplete. There was no absolute black, and seeing was less of a problem that he'd expected. The others followed behind him, each staying close to the bobbing silhouette just ahead. The only word he'd heard spoken in over six hours had come from DG, calling out "Toto!" when the mutt had finally made his reappearance. Every so often, he'd hear a grunt or snuff to indicate the damn dog was still bounding along beside them.

It all felt... not so bad.

_Not so bad._

Perhaps it was a revelation, or as the headcase would've said, an epiphany. Perhaps he was just too damned tired to care about maintaining his disapprovals.

The others were in better spirits, and it would do him well to be around them. He'd been alone too long, locked up on that forsaken piece of land by the creek, the ruins of his former life gone but still haunting him, day after tormented day. He needed this, as much as they wanted him there. That wasn't to say he didn't still feel obligation tugging him ever forward. It was just a little less weight to carry.

And that, he found, wasn't so bad, either.

* * *

It was with no uncertain joy that their path finally intersected with the eastern stretch of the Brick Route, bringing their cross-country jaunt to an end. The Papay that had followed them through the fields also disappeared into the night, never to be heard by Cain's ears again so long as they were in the orchard. Perhaps – and maybe he was kidding himself by even considering – the scouts had led the way through the dark fields all along.

The end of the fields came without warning, as it ever did; the last row of trees behind them and the night sky opening up above them so suddenly that for a moment their vision was wholly overtaken by the infinity of the stars. Where he could not see, he knew the horizon was beginning to pale, but even the most reaching touch of day had yet to dim the brilliance of summer starlight. The kind of sight that stills the heart, the mind, brings the type of peace that can't be known in the harsh brightness of the twin suns.

The chatter picked up now, voices giddy and hoarse with exhaustion. A long slew of complaints from the lot of them; even the dog growled at him when he told them there was still a ways to go before they were done for the night. It was his every intention to get them as far off the route as possible, as lost in the woods as he could safely allow. They were still half a day from the lands of the eastern guild – the only full-blooded people of the true east, if you listened to their hot-headed puffery. All others – like himself – were usurpers, and unworthy.

He tried to banish such pestering thoughts as the sky lightened on him, drawing more griping from Glitch and DG as the birds nested in the trees above their heads began their incessant good-mornings. Soon now, soon.

Off the route they dismounted, and into the forest they walked their horses, surrounded by trees as straight and tall as the towers of the Shining City. These pines and their dropping needles meant the understory was bare, and the soft, dry soil masked all sounds of their footfalls, and those of the horses. It was uneven, treacherous going in the poor light; it seemed more than once that a thick, gnarled root lifted up and meant to catch his foot or turn his ankle. The occasional under-breath curse behind him, however, was cause enough to smile.

It was Toto who led the way to a clearing under a patch of open sky. Ere too long, he might be lounging back, watching the most earnest of those summer stars finally burn themselves out. It was possibilities like these that usually kept his legs moving that little while longer, as he managed the horses with Raw's help, settling them in for a bit of a rest. It was a bit of a trek for water, he told himself he needed to stretch his legs – besides, four horses and a Viewer weren't bad company, not at all.

Cain washed up in the river, throwing water on his face in a vain attempt to make himself feel a bit more human. Raw kneeled down beside him, washed as he had, keeping a close eye on the horses as they drank and wandered the small stretch of rocky beach.

Upon returning to the camp, they ate what DG had dug out for them. The morning was cold, but there was no need to bother with a fire. Without much in the way of conversation, the others spread out their sleeping rolls on whatever even ground they could find. A few mumbled 'good-nights' (despite the pale grey of the morning) and half-hearted complaints about the forest floor were all that reached Cain's ears as he settled himself back against a tree, stretched his legs out, and closed his eyes.

He fell asleep quickly, surrounded by the scents of pine and soil, the sound of the river barely audible but a comforting presence none the less. There were glimpses of a dream behind his eyes, familiar faces watching, when he awoke with a start.

It was DG that had awoken him with her restlessness, though she was trying to be quiet about it. He wasn't sure what it was he could sense in her, whether it be frustration or worry or even fear. Whatever it was, it was keeping her awake. With a quick upward glance at the sky – suns were coming up fast, their gold now spreading across the grey – he cleared his throat and called out to her, quietly as he could.

"Why all the squirming, kiddo?"

She turned toward him, eyes wide and ever open. "Did I wake you?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry."

And she was. The girl was sorry about too many damned things, and he was too soft to her for it. So, it was without surprise and only the slightest regret that he said, "What's vexing you tonight?"

"It's morning. The suns are coming up," she pointed out, deftly sidestepping his query.

He sighed, and with a moment's hesitation, patted the ground beside him. She was slow in disentangling herself from her sleeping roll, ambling over with dragging steps, but there was expectation in her sky eyes as she settled herself beside him. She angled herself so that she leaned back against his arm and shoulder, staring out into shaded morning gloom that could lay no claim to night nor day. If she was going to share her thoughts, she would not share her eyes, which read the truth, nor her mouth, which spoke with no need for words. He didn't know what to make of it, coming so close yet in the end still turning away.

"Your mind's a hundred miles away," he said quietly, now that she was beside him. "I don't think I need to tell you to find a way to bring it back."

She leaned into him a bit more, sighing as her head lolled back against his shoulder. "What're we doing out here, Cain?"

He bit his lip against the immediate, lashing response that wanted to rip into such a lament. Had they really come all this way under the banner of her uncertainty, her doubt? What happened to the steadfast resolve that had become as much a part of her as anything?

Painful part was, he was going to have to give her an answer. Those eyes came back to him, seeking some unknown truth from _him_, Wyatt Cain, the most unworthy.

So, he did the only sensible thing a man in his position would do. He played her game of avoidance, turnabout being fair play and all. "Darlin', what is it you're trying to achieve from all this?"

"Why do you keep calling me darling?"

"Why haven't you got a clue what you're getting yourself into?"

"Because we've got enough clues between the five of us to figure it all out," she said, hard and simple and by far the most reasonable thing he'd ever heard her say. He looked down at her, curled against him, and considered. DG, however, wasn't to be content with such quiet thoughts; she turned around to face him, twisting about on him too quickly for him to wipe the half-smile off his face. "Now are you going to answer my question?"

He chose carefully; she'd asked two, after all. "What are we doing out here."

She frowned, and sank back against him once again. "I changed my mind, I don't want to know what you think."

"You already know what I think," he said, smirking. He lowered his chin to rest on top of her head. "You need to stop thinkin' so hard. The only place your feet are gonna lead is where they ought to. The rest of us don't mind keepin' up."

She was still under the press of his chin into her hair; she didn't stiffen, and that was something, but for her to relax against him just that little bit more was a greater comfort to him than he'd ever admit aloud.

"There's so little time, Cain. What if we go all the way for nothing?" she asked, her voice growing tinier for all her big questions. "What if in the end I really can't help my mother?"

"Then you're gonna know you did everything you could. And we will," he said firmly.

She nodded. "Maybe."

There was more to be said. More than even he could give her. There was a promise to be made, one that should have been given as easily as breathing. Who was he to withhold such a small favour? The words wouldn't come, stuck in his throat, broken pieces of himself he'd once upon a time thrown so freely at those he loved. Here he was, rusted and used and obliged to this girl, and he couldn't bring himself to say, _I promise._

"Thanks, Cain," she said quietly, and she turned to smile up at him. He gave her a nod, unable to give her a smile in return, and missing the warmth of her against him. He watched as she went back to her sleeping roll, as she crawled in and ultimately stilled, slept.

How he wished he could follow her into such peace.

* * *

_Author's Note: Just a quick thank-you-I-love-you-you-guys-are-_**awesome** _to everyone who let me know what they thought about my... proposed new project. I suppose my worries about over-doing it with my Emerald series were unfounded. The muse has locked herself away, and she said she'll 'call me'. At least she left the notes for the rest of this story. _


	17. Speak Softly

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

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**_When Last We Met: Into the east, the five companions have disappeared. Finaqua is far behind; Central City and the fading Lavender are much closer to their minds and hearts. DG's hope rests solely in the Eastern Guild, whose cooperation and knowledge Cain is uncertain she's going to gain._

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**Chapter Seventeen: Speak Softly**

In the farthest east, it's said there was a place where the trees grew tall, and men did not. A land where such men, so small and ineffectual, lived in fear of sweeping winds and the glint of silver. A place, the story went, where divine retribution fell from the sky in the splintering of beams and shattering of glass. On that day of reckoning, the men went up into the trees, and they have never come down.

"We're gonna be out here at most three days," Wyatt found himself telling the others, early in the afternoon as they readied to leave. It was warm, and he'd abandoned his duster, rolled up his shirtsleeves. Glitch and DG were in similar states of undress, while the lazy heat of early summer seemed to have no effect on Raw, or on Tutor, who'd finally decided to shift and include himself in on the conversations.

"Three days?" DG asked. If he had to guess (which he didn't), he'd say she was a bit displeased with his estimate. He'd heard enough of Tutor and Glitch spouting their 'time is of the utmost importance' tripe to know that it had the girl wound tight as a clockwork soldier. As much as he wanted it, there was nothing he could do to placate her.

"At the most," he said. He didn't add that it could be five days at the _worst_, it wasn't something she needed to be hearing.

"Wonderful," she muttered darkly, and it was the last he heard out of her for hours. Not wanting to argue all day, he let it be. The others, however, wouldn't be so lucky.

"You figured out which village you want to head for?" he asked Glitch, who was battling a map back into its properly folded state, and very much on the winning end of it. It was rare to see such a small task done with such assuredness. The headcase finally seemed to be coming into his own, that was for damned sure, but if he were doing better out here than he had been in the city, it wasn't for Cain to say; the knowledge of this sent the shame to rising in his throat.

It was Tutor who answered. "There's a village in the northeast reaches of Midling March. You'll both remember it, of course."

Cain rolled his eyes as the old man gestured broadly at Glitch and DG. Near half a dozen villages under the emblem of the Eastern Guild, but they were headed to the village from which his two rescuers had just barely escaped with their skins intact. That day, that _day_, the last, the first; an unwanted destiny, just his gods-damned luck.

This was going to bring them close to his home. Too close for his liking, but he was here to support, not to lead.

Probably best to keep quiet on this one.

It was well past midday when they made it back onto the route, though it wasn't long before they left the bricks behind and were following the narrow trails that criss-crossed their way through the eastern forests. These were not the straight and even of the Brick Route, guiding all feet to the Shining City, but twisted paths meant to loop around, hill and vale and hill once more until a traveller might sit down on the spot for loss of direction and never dare to move again.

Much to his ease, Cain spent the afternoon getting them hopelessly lost. He'd spent enough time in the east over the annuals to know that proper negotiations with the guild leader and his officers had already begun, the moment they'd stepped off the Brick Route and disappeared into the protection of the forest. Diplomacy would get Glitch nowhere; though he never let the others know it, he had this well in hand.

The men of the east considered themselves, through no uncertain terms, a warrior race; they were an ancient and suspicious breed, adepts of the forest, and worthy of high respect. Their pride may have been their greatest weakness, but on their land, Cain would abide their rules, and do his damnedest to make sure the others did the same. Even if he knew a direct route to the village the old man had in mind, he valued his own hide too much, let alone those of his companions, to go looking for it.

It would take longer, and lead to more complication than he would normally otherwise invite into his life, but in the end it would make them all a little less dead, and that sat just fine with him.

He could get them to the village. Once they got there, well... it was up to DG and Glitch then, wasn't it?

The day passed a little more quickly than its predecessors, with each new path and revisited stone, doubling-back and then back on that again. It was in a northeasterly direction that he took them, the suns guiding him more than the trails or his knowledge of these woods. He couldn't have chosen a calmer, brighter day for a (mostly) aimless ride through the woods. Even the others, for all the lack of really getting anywhere, had little to complain about. In fact, he heard very few voices at all, his companions caught in their own endless spirals of introspect. As the mutt only ever barked to garner immediate attention to things of merit, he remained the most well behaved dog Wyatt had ever come across. A much preferred state, he'd long ago wholeheartedly decided.

His thoughts wandered as the hours wore ever on; he thought on his son, out somewhere in the wide world, still fighting the shadows the war had left him chasing; he thought about home, the barn roof that still needed shingling, or if the creek had risen any; he wondered how Lavender fared since the last of the news out of Central; he wondered how many scouts were following them, watching their every move from the green of the trees.

Afternoon began to wane. The birds quieted, the bugs started biting in earnest. The temperature dropped as the suns dipped lower in the sky, below the tree line where he couldn't see. It was time to start banking a little on that luck of DG's.

"We're wasting daylight," he told the others after he'd stopped in the middle of the trail and they'd all congregated behind him. "We should make camp and pick this up in the morning."

The first response he got was from the damn mutt, who ran ahead on the trail and started barking, and loudly. Cain grumbled, refusing to even turn to acknowledge the dog, and kept his eyes on the others. While Raw seemed relieved, DG and Glitch looked all kinds of uncertain.

"I think there's a couple hours left," DG said, turning in her saddle to glance behind her. He wondered how long she'd been looking over her shoulder like that; if he hadn't been trying so hard to avoid doing the same thing over the course of the day, he might know the answer. "I want to keep going."

Determination, back full force. Did she harbour any regrets about the night before, letting her weaknesses show so close to the surface? To him, of all people, he who'd hurt her in selfishness. Did she even remember how warm she'd been curled against him?

"We aren't going to find anything marching around in the dark," he pointed out, "and we'll likely walk into an ambush if we try." She looked about ready to argue with this, so he added, "It's gonna take us another hour or more before we find a decent spot to set up for the night, we can still put a few more miles behind us."

She turned away, less than pleased with his answers. "What do you think?" she asked Glitch. "What does the map say?"

Glitch cleared his throat, shifted in his saddle under the heat of DG's scrutiny. "According to the map, none of these roads even exist," he said, "so I think I might have to agree with Cain. I don't think I'd like waking to a spear pointed in my face."

DG rolled her eyes. "Fine. We'll make camp; this, coming from the man who made us ride sixteen hours yesterday."

"I didn't hear no complaining when it was saving us a day on the road."

"A day that we just spent accomplishing _nothing_."

"We're near halfway across the Midlings," Glitch said, ever the optimist. He was right, too; it was only another two or three spans before the edge of the forest, and the border that separated the eastern territory from the north.

DG was scowling, but had no reply. Glitch took the small triumph with a smug look, and a bit of a grin.

Cain tried to catch her eye; she deliberately avoided his.

There were still hours before the second sun would set when they found a meadow to suit their needs; the shallow, swift-moving creek was, Cain believed, a tributary to the muddy, sluggish flow that ran so near his home. The water was clean and the horses showed no signs of being picky, so he left the animals to graze in the meadow as they pleased and helped the others get settled near the edge of the woods.

"Why don't you go for firewood," he suggested to DG. Every task she had attempted to carry out, one of her companions had swept in to overtake it, oblivious in their chivalry; she was patting her hands against her legs, that nervous, flighty look in her eyes that he'd never learned to like.

She nodded, and headed into the trees without a word.

"Don't go too far," he called, mostly for the sake of appearance. The others, after all, might protest if they got wind of what he was planning.

He watched as she waved him off and disappeared.

"Do you think she'll be all right by herself?" Glitch asked. He was kneeling, digging through a rucksack for what would eventually become their evening meal. He was a passable cook, too; at least, more so than DG or himself.

"The kid needs a walk," Cain grunted.

"She's not the only one."

His head shot up to see Glitch watching him innocently. "Care to elaborate on that, there?"

Glitch went back to his rummaging. "I don't know what you mean, Wyatt, I really don't, although I must say –" And here, he paused, smiling into his work and shaking his head, "you and DG are beginning to give the rest of us neck problems with all the volleys of repressed emotion; you know, Tin Man, all that undue tension isn't doing your heart any favours."

Wyatt had never been comfortable with the headcase's ability to render him speechless, and now was no exception. It wasn't his chosen silence, it was forced, and he didn't like being forced into anything. That an immediate answer didn't spring to mind or tongue infuriated him, mostly because – well, answering that wouldn't do anyone any good, would it?

"Maybe you should put your nose into that pack where it belongs," he said, meaning for that to be the end of it.

Glitch, thank the gods, obliged – though Cain could've done without the final, cheeky smirk.

Fifteen minutes passed, and DG didn't return. After five more, he sighed, stood up, looked around.

"Someone needs to go fetch her," he muttered, feeling the remaining pairs of eyes on him.

"Do you think something happened?" Tutor asked. He was sitting on the ground, slackened against a tree; he looked about to fall asleep. The hard exercise the man was putting himself through daily now looked to be taking a toll, a very effective reminder that the road was harder on some than on others. Something to keep in mind.

"If I thought something'd happened, I'd be out there myself," Cain said, though he didn't add, _but I don't think she'd be too happy to see me if I did._ "Knowing DG," he said instead, trying to sound annoyed with her, "she's probably just got it in her head to dawdle."

"I suppose I'll go," Glitch said, brushing his knees as he stood; less fastidious outside Central, but still particular to tidiness. "We won't eat until there's a fire, anyway." He strode off into the woods; after a few minutes, Cain could hear him calling DG's name, and then he was off too far and it was quiet again.

Five minutes; ten, then fifteen. Well.

From his crouched position near the centre of the site, where he would have dug out a pit for the fire if he'd ever thought they would actually stay, he felt Raw touch his shoulder. Irritable, Wyatt shrugged him off. He didn't need to turn around to see what Raw wanted him to.

"I see, don't worry," was all he said.

It took Tutor far longer to notice that DG and Glitch had yet to return, let alone to realise that they were being watched. Cain himself had to point it out to him, once Tutor had hefted himself to his feet and set himself to do something about what he no doubt saw as Cain's unwillingness to encroach on DG's boundaries.

"Mr. Cain," he began.

"Mr. Lesley," Cain returned, cocking his head at an angle so that he might look Tutor in the eye. He didn't mind the old man looking down on him, not at all; he didn't move from his haunches. "You want me to go after them, is that it?"

Tutor cleared his throat, his hands going to his pockets, the eversame motions of avoidance.

"There's no need," Cain told him, and he looked away from the old man, back toward the forest. "About thirty yards in, don't you see them?"

He looked up again to see Tutor scan the forest beyond the meadow. The look on the mutt's face when his eyes finally found their mark sent Cain to smiling. Sometimes, the little moments were just enough.

"We should all –"

"Too late for that. They'll come in on all sides, you'll see." He stood. "They'll make the first move soon enough; they know we'll come quiet. We're not in any position to fight."

"Because you sent DG in ahead of us."

"Think of this as eastern diplomacy, dogman," Cain said low, his words clipped and lips barely moving. The minutes were melting away to nothing now; he didn't know how many scouts were surrounding the campsite, perhaps close to a dozen, maybe more. "By the way, how many times you been out here in the past six months, nosing around for them to tell you what you want to know? How many times have they already turned you away?"

Tutor shifted, looked away. "Hardly –"

"You might try playin' their way," Cain said, "and see if things don't start going yours."

Looking unhappy about it, Tutor finally complied. Raw had no qualms at all, having felt the encroaching hostility, he was no doubt ready to take flight himself, if not for the deepset instinct to be where DG was – such loyalty knew no bounds, if it would keep a Viewer's feet planted when he might otherwise run for safety.

_Loyalty._

It occurred to him then, all too belatedly, too godsdamned late, that the men of the east just might support the passing of the crown. Had the influence of the New Resistance penetrated this far into the east?

Son of an Unwanted wh–

The next few minutes were ones that Cain would remember for a long, long while. Three of the eastern party approached, coming out of the trees; they weren't armed to the teeth, as he'd expected, but each carried a spear, the spearheads pointed at the sky and the sharp edges catching the last of the dying evening light.

"Going to be a warm night," Cain called out; he found them not in the least intimidating, and wasn't about to pretend.

The party leader, taller than his companions, face streaked with red and black paint, halted not ten feet off, his men standing behind him. "Not for all," he said. "Some shall face the cold."

"I take that to mean you've got something that belongs to us."

The leader's face was impassive. "Little birds with sharp tongues, caged and hung for all to see."

"Mouthy, yes," Cain said, "but also important."

"To you." The leader smirked, the first sign of a reaction Cain had seen from him.

"And to you," Cain replied, tucking his thumbs into his belt, "you just don't know it."

The leader seemed to be considering them, and after a moment he muttered something to his men in a tongue that Cain did not understand, but the meaning came across clear as a slap on the face. In the end, it all went quite civil, despite the spear point in his back as he was herded through the forest with the others. His only regret was not being there to see the rest of the hunting party try to lead the horses; the sight might've cheered him up some, considering.

It was an uncomfortable, twenty-minute push through the woods, with more harsh, strange words than Cain cared to count. He didn't know exactly what he was being referred to, but it caused the guild fighters to snicker and glance toward him every now and again. He'd heard more than enough comments against his character over the annuals, but something about the leering of these ornery little beasts constantly tweaked at his temper.

The village was, like most eastern villages, a sprawling expanse of houses and bridges just below the canopy. Most of the homes were build around the trees in the upper most branches, so that each house had the massive trunk as a central pillar, the branches spreading like rafters under thatched roofs. Bridges were lashed between structures; ladders reaching down to the ground were few and far between.

As they were led under the village, Cain heard Glitch's voice call out from overhead.

"I've got a bone to pick with you, Wyatt Cain!"

Cain smirked; no, he didn't imagine the headcase was too happy about his current predicament.

Raw and Tutor were detained; there was no word of what had happened to DG. Cain was directed none too politely up a ladder, finding himself on uneven footing on the lowest level of the village. A few precarious bridges and another ladder brought him to the second, and he was ushered up to the largest structure he could see. The fighters guarding the door had axes hanging from their belts, small enough that Cain would've had a hard time using one as a hatchet to cut kindling.

He was forced – literally – to duck through the door. The singular room was fashioned into a wide-open hall, and if he positioned himself rightly between the thick, gnarled branches that acted as eaves, he could stand at his full height. It wouldn't do him any favours, though, since height was always a disadvantage in this neck of the woods.

The door was shut with as much of a bang as such flimsy architecture could provide. It was remarkably dark inside the hall, the only light filtering in through the cracks in the walls. A long table was set down the middle of the room. He cocked his head to see past the branch that was obstructing his vision, and saw that at the very end, seated to the right, was a man who'd seen many more annuals, and many more sore sights than he. Immediately, Cain was racking his brain as to remember the general's name, but it wouldn't come; he'd have to ask Glitch, or Tutor, if the opportunity presented itself. One leader of all the men of the east, one man who answered only to the Queen of the Outer Zone; was this fortune or misfortune grinning down to see him in the Midlings at the same time the princess, heir apparent now with Azkadellia back on the throne.

And how, _how_ was this going to complicate things. It sure as hell would. Always did.

"You are Captain Wyatt Cain, aren't you," the general said. He was without armour, his face unpainted. Never in all his annuals had Cain expected to see an easterner so unguarded. "They say you are the hermit of the crying creek. One of the Mystic Man's fallen, returned from the dead."

"Not 'captain' any more, sir," he said, wilfully ignoring the rest.

"My fighters came bragging of a sharp-tongued prize they took in the forest," the general continued. "Who do you think it was that I found gagged and glowering in her cage? How am I to tell my fighters they captured a princess? She's already been recognised by some as the spy from the sky during the final days of the war."

As the general couldn't see his face, blocked by the thick, knotted rafter as it was, Cain took a moment to close his eyes and fully picture DG, spitting and fuming and made to sit and wait. He was torn between smiling and feeling, well, guilty. After all, this had turned into his plan, not hers, and nowhere along the route today had he told her about the switch.

"Sir, if it's answers you're wanting, you're best to get them from the princess. I'm just an escort."

"Under what order?"

"Hers."

The word hung in the air, untouchable, as the general stood up from the table and slowly walked over to Cain, who looked down without reservation to the general's eyes.

"Very well, Wyatt Cain," the general said. "You will escort the princess to me, and she and I will talk."


	18. True Bearing

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

**

* * *

**

_When Last We Met: True to his word, Cain has brought DG to the halls of the eastern guild, where she hopes she may yet be told where the guardian, Glinda, has hidden herself away. Not all roads, however, are so easily found. _

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen: True Bearing**

The garrison was little more than a swinging rope bridge, on either side of the narrow stretch hung near a dozen cages total. A squat, mean-looking guild fighter stood guard, his back to his prisoners.

"Bluesire sent me to take my two friends off your hands," Cain said, wasting no time.

The guard looked skeptical. "The general sends an outsider, why does he not come himself?"

"I think he's worried the girl might bite," Cain said with a smirk. "Now if you'll release them, they've got a meeting with the general, and he didn't look to be too patient this evening."

The guard craned his neck to size Cain up, which he tolerated merely because it would be counter-productive to do otherwise. When the guard seemed to have his fill of the underside of Cain's chin – which, Cain realised with a twinge of annoyance, was in need of a shave – he stood back, knocking the butt of his spear down on the platform once.

"You may pass," the guard said, and then after a moment of contemplation, added, "if you can answer me one thing."

Cain raised an eyebrow. "What." He was in no mood for games.

"What is," and here the guard paused to look around for others who might be listening in, "what is a," and he dropped his voice low, "a hobbit?"

Eyebrows knitting together in confusion, Cain took in the odd and unexpected question with the full intention of being able to understand, but after a few seconds, he rolled his eyes and settled his features. "The girl call you that?"

A curt nod from the guard.

"Better off not knowing, I'd think. Nothin' but nonsense out of her mouth most days." He worked to sound unimpressed, angry, when inside he was sure to crack his jaw while suppressing a smile.

The guard, though less than sated, allowed him to pass. He was followed closely up the narrow, swinging way; though it was unflappably secure for even one of his size, it became all too obvious that balance and solid ground were dear friends he'd taken for granted.

"Release the prisoners," the guard said to another, this one lean and painted a lurid yellow.

"Is that so? This one and I were just getting acquainted," the other said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at DG, sitting sullenly in her cage, legs hanging down through the gap in the floor. She said nothing, showing little interest in the guild fighter's jeering. She hadn't yet looked up to see Cain, and it set his heart to sinking; it was most unwelcome, that brazen disappointment.

"The girl and the beanpole are to be taken to the guild hall," the 'hobbit' said, shouting his orders from behind Cain's back. "Bluesire wants to speak with them, directly."

With much sneering and under-breath cursing, DG was released. The guild fighters laughed at her as she nearly lost her balance clambering out of the hanging cell and onto the suspended catwalk. Cain put out a hand to steady her, but she swatted him off. He didn't try again.

"Listen –"

Her hand shot up between them, as if she were marking a barrier – which with her magic skill could be entirely possible. "Don't," she said, her voice tighter than he'd ever heard it, "don't you dare."

"DG –"

She interrupted him again, her words cutting his excuse to the quick. "You set me up."

A dire accusation, blunt but wholly and undeniably true. "I –" And here he sighed, clearly knowing the futility of bothering, "I sent you out on a limb."

"No pun intended, I presume," Glitch said, breaking in a moment too late. DG had turned away, her face red. "Well, we are in a tree, aren't we? And might I add that I'm not too fond of these, these – _these_ trees?" He gestured about him, at the spanning bridges and rigging and staring guild fighters from levels above and below. "Hey, did I hear that General Bluesire is here?"

Cain gave a stiff nod, noticing that their garrison escorts were beginning to look a bit itchy with impatience. "Our dumb luck," was his only reply.

The news seemed to reinvigorate Glitch, at least more so than his two companions. Together, they traced the paths back to the guild hall, where Raw and Tutor would be waiting for them. The silence that accompanied them through the village – not pure silence, with the breeze in the canopy and the creak of the rope and gentle murmur of village life, but the unnatural coldness of words unsaid, of chosen solitude, that had settled down upon the trio, though all in all Glitch seemed the only one unaffected.

Wyatt owed her an apology, but for the time being, it would have to wait.

* * *

Custom dictated that the five outsiders were not permitted to sit in the guild hall; it was a right possessed only by members of the guild, be they fighter, smith, or apprentice. Even a princess of the Outer Zone, to whose family the guild had sworn their allegiance, could not take a seat at the long, low table to meet with the guild leader.

DG towered over the general as he sat, stroking his chin as he stared up at her.

"You are a long way from Central City," he said; these were the first words he had spoken to her since she'd been ushered inside by the guards at the door. Only her strict insistence had gotten the others inside. Now, Wyatt stood by the door, Glitch and Raw at his side, trying their best to melt back into the shadows as he. Toto was curled near Glitch's feet, and seemed the only one at rest in the situation.

"We left from Finaqua," DG answered the general, her tight-cinched throat loosened up some since the issues at hand had distracted her from her anger. "So we've come a lot farther than you think."

"Your sister knows you wander the wilds?"

"Yes," she said, "it's my sister who sent me."

The general smiled, a show of white teeth in his brown, weathered face that Cain could see clear across the dim lit hall. "She sent you here?"

"No, not exact –"

"My men inside the city have told me a great deal of late, princess," he said, waving off her weak words, "but not a whisper of your departure until you were stumbling over our borders. I wonder what it is the sorcering queen seeks, to send such a valuable envoy in such secrecy."

To Cain's right, Glitch started at the dark slight toward Azkadellia; he'd opened his mouth to say something before Cain was forced to nudge him sharply in the side. The aggrieved exhale was easily hampered and went unnoticed.

"My mother is dying," DG said suddenly, wiping the smile off Bluesire's face; slapping it away would've been less effective than the drop of that heavy and unexpected truth. "I want to know what you know."

The general seemed hard pressed to recover; perhaps he'd taken the news of Lavender's illness out of hand, had barely taken the time to measure the full repercussions of what her death could mean. Or maybe, just maybe, as one who'd stayed loyal to her, fought the insurgent's path throughout the long annuals of the Sorceress' reign, he was actually knocked speechless by the news; after all, Lavender was loved by many, oft times unjustly so.

"What I know," the general said slowly.

DG raised her chin. "There are powers in this world yet that could save my mother," she said, so utterly confident. To seem anything less wouldn't help her cause; she knew she needed to be strong in her resolve, to act the part of her great blood. "The witch who took my sister –"

Bluesire interrupted her, unconvinced as he laughed from his gut. DG's shoulders slumped, and she took a step back at the unexpected outburst.

"Oh, how the Fates mock me," the general said, still chuckling. "Go back to your shining city and spend your mother's last hours at her side, girl."

It was at this that Glitch finally stepped forward, with such a vehemence that Cain would've been a fool to try stop him. As it was, he watched uneasily as Glitch and DG stood side-by-side, united against one cynical guild general.

"Does she need the slippers on her feet to prove to you her sincerity?" Glitch demanded. DG glanced up at him, uncertain if he were helping her cause or not, but the half-smile tweaking at the corner of her mouth showed that she was appreciative no matter what the outcome.

"It's not her sincerity I doubt," Bluesire said. "You wear your determination proudly, child; you have the mark of a warrior. You are no spell wielding Gale, are you?"

"Give me time."

The general smiled. "You will need far more than resolve to seek the guardian, Glinneth."

After the naming, the room fell silent; for all his annuals, Cain had never heard anything spoken with more reverence. The shiny gloss that had been painted over history during his school age had long since begun to peel away; what he'd been taught and what he'd recited ever faithfully, what had faded in his memory as his life and mind had given way to more consuming things. The blood-stained annuals of the Sorceress had been only a start to the revelations of a past more great and terrible than any fairy tale fabricated since to hide it all away.

It was the end of the road for his hope, however short that journey may have been; holding out against the faintest chance they weren't chasing after ghosts and legends had done him nothing but harm, as now he knew, for solid and for certain, that he knew _nothing_.

If he was the only one so affected, he would never know. The world went on, as it always invariably did.

"Where is she?" DG asked; she seemed to Cain smaller somehow, watching her now as he did with more scrutiny than she deserved.

"Before you ask that of me, and of my people, ask yourself this: is saving your mother truly your greatest wish? For all the good such determination could bring your country, is your mother's life so important?"

"It is to me." DG's answer was immediate. If she'd taken time to consider as he'd asked, then she'd done it while the general's lips still moved.

The general smirked.

"Please," DG said, laying out bare and honest her resolve to do this impossible thing, "can you tell me where to find Glin–"

"Where?" Bluesire's did nothing to hide his incredulity. "You'd like me to draw a dotted line on your map, perhaps? Scrawl a great red 'X' to forge toward, blindly and at all cost? Princess, that knowledge was lost, long before the purge of the Sorceress."

"You must have some –" Glitch began, but the general cut him off.

"I can tell you to head south, back the way you came," the general said, with a smile that was neither inviting or encouraging. There was a certain amount of pleasure being derived of making DG squirm before him, it was obvious to Cain and it was beyond him why.

"South? To Finaqua?" DG asked; poor kid had no idea.

The general's reply settled over them all; Raw slumped back against the wall as the hammer fell, even Toto's head lifted up off his paws to pay his closest. "Beyond the Ruby Mountains, to the sea of sand; where along those shores you might find what you seek, I know not, nor can I tell you which road will lead you there. They say the Old Road led to her gates, once."

"The Brick Route stops near Finaqua," Glitch interjected.

Bluesire nodded. "Aye, it does at that, but that's not what I said."

Glitch's shoulders stiffened; he was making to argue but DG tugged quickly at his sleeve.

"Thank you, General Bluesire," DG said, overly polite now that she'd squeezed as much blood out of this stone as she was apt to. She seemed eager, that twitch in her fingers that indicated she was readying herself for... well, something. Cain stepped forward just as the general stood from his chair.

"I've already arranged lodgings for the night," Bluesire said, "and we'll resupply you best we can come morning."

DG nodded again. "Thank you, sir."

Suddenly finding themselves dismissed, Glitch and DG turned to leave the guild hall. She scooped up Toto on her way past, so distracted by new revelation and all entailed that she barely looked Cain's way as she went out; though their eyes met briefly, there was nothing in her blues that mirrored, or even shadowed, the anger she'd thrown his way less than mere hours before. She disappeared out the door and into the quickly falling dark, led by escorts who were not he. Glitch, at least, tossed a hopeful smile his way as he shuffled out, Raw on his heels with eyes nor smile for no one.

"Captain Cain," the general said as Cain himself turned to leave.

Bristling under the intention, Cain stopped. "Sir."

"I will be leaving for Central City tomorrow," Bluesire said, his tone kept low for the guards were still outside the door, which stood wide-open to the cool twilight. "With luck, an audience with Queen Azkadellia will see that she's informed as her sister has been."

"I'm sure DG would appreciate that, sir."

"Use great discretion when moving south; the farther the reach of Central City, the greater the influence of this new resistance faction. There may be places where the rule of the royal family holds very little sway."

Cain sighed. "And here in the east?"

"There are always whisperings, especially in the human villages beyond the Midlings, but the north under Andrus is yet ferociously loyal to Lavender and her daughter."

"Which daughter, I wonder," Cain mused with no uncertain amount of disdain.

Bluesire frowned. "She is a curious child. Keep her safe, Captain."

"I will, sir."

There was little other choice.

* * *

Hours later, in the encompassing darkness of the forest, Cain walked the beaten paths under the trees in solitude. While the others rested, or lay awake with worry or wonder, he had chosen to forsake the too-small bed beneath a too-low roof; his feet had led the way and his mind had simply allowed it.

He had no wish to dream.

Long, long days ago, each a lifetime in its own right, he'd been given a vision, one that had told him what was expected of him. _She cannot go back_, the apparition of Lavender had whispered to him in tones of unsung trust. The price that was being paid was high, to keep DG out of Central where she might, however unintentionally, make the same sacrifice her own mother had almost sixteen annuals before.

Alone with his thoughts was where Cain feared to be the most. Here, the truth was a sword, and it was by his own hand that it was buried and twisted cruelly in his gut. His love and loyalties were dragging him down roads he'd never intended to walk, with the only consolation being, well, that the company was good.

Who was the fool in all this, really? DG and her damn hope, or Cain himself, with his hangdog loyalty?

_South, beyond the mountains, to the sea of sand._

Was he really going to have to admit to Glitch, worldly as the bastard had been before his headcasing, that he was one of those rural boys who'd never seen the desert? Both his momma and daddy had died without seeing it. He wondered, had his sister crossed it; had she gotten out?

These roads led to dead ends, empty places where the heart could no longer reside. DG, and that hopefulness, would serve a better guide, he knew that right down to his marrow.

South beyond the mountains, he'd keep her safe, keep them all safe. To the sea of sand, he'd follow.

But for now – and it was with purpose and surety that he walked now, ever careful, watchful – he was the one being followed. Steps might tread in shadow, but it was upon earth they moved, and the earth had given her up; under the trees and the stars, he would find out why.


	19. Under Cover of Darkness

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

* * *

_When Last We Met: While Lavender continues to fade in her existence, DG seeks a way to find the Guardian of the O.Z., the high witch, Glinneth. After questioning the Eastern guild, all DG has is her friends' continued loyalty and a vague heading - south, beyond the mountains._

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen: Under Cover of Darkness**

DG had left the village alone, and probably without word; for this, Wyatt wanted to turn on her and berate her until tears sprang from her eyes, such was his ire that everything, including her own safety, had taken back burner to her insatiable desire to save her mother. A more rational part of himself, though, realised it would be futile to turn on her without question of her motives. It took him a great deal of deep breathing to even begin to wrap his mind around the fact that he was just a little bit proud of her for making it this far without his taking notice.

There was nothing for it; damn it, he was walking straight into the mouth of it, practically skipping and grinning for the sake of it, but he wasn't getting out of this, and he wondered – later on, of course, but not just then – if she'd planned it that way when she'd set out after him.

That wasn't to say he didn't try put it off; he'd wound back halfway toward the village before he finally put a stop to his feet, impressed with how quickly and quietly she brought herself to a stop behind him. Standing in the middle of the path, he tucked a hand into his gunbelt and let his head lean back to take in a bit of the sky.

"You're gonna need to find yourself a new hobby, kid," he said, as if to himself.

A moment later, she stepped up behind him, solid enough to touch, though still hazy about the edges to his dark perceptions. "I was practising," she said, quite defensive upfront. He looked down at her, gave her a wry smirk. "Well," she added, "I wanted to see where you were going."

"Hmm." He glanced back up at the stars. "You could've just asked me."

She was silent, lingering behind his shoulder where he couldn't properly see her.

"Still not talkin' to me then, huh. Well, that's all right. I deserve it."

DG snorted, and he turned again to see her covering her nose and mouth with her hand; all he could see over the sleeve of her coat was a glimpse of pale skin, and the flash of her eyes. "I think that's the closest I've ever heard you come to an apology," she said. He could almost have guessed there was a smile in her voice, but the gloomy blue of the night around them wouldn't betray her.

"Well, don't count on it happening again any time soon," he muttered.

"Does that mean you don't plan on doing anything heartless any time soon?" she countered; her words weren't sharp, but conversational, curious. Damn her, the wide-eyed innocence and bright smile that drew away from her dead-panned sarcasms and biting wit. It was by no small effort that she'd charmed her way this far into his life, and his own effort to keep her at arm's length seemed to be weakening with every passing day.

He frowned. "Can't account for what I don't plan on, Deege."

There was no response from her, not right away at least, when he expected her to lash back with another quick remark; she had nothing for him, except for a small sigh and then utter quiet. The night around them moved of its own accord, small creatures going on about their wild existences, the wind playing a chord through the trees too bittersweet for a human ear to appreciate. Even the earth itself beneath their feet seemed to breathe and sigh in constant echo of the singing wind. The kind of night he'd taken for granted as a child, the kind of night he'd taken advantage of as a young man; the kind of night, he remembered with a twinge of regret, he'd dearly missed during the long and empty annuals of the suit.

It was through these woods that he'd brought his family to safety; it was to this earth that he'd been staked and left to die. To this familiar ground, he'd fled after the eclipse, all the while knowing the girl was finally steady enough on her own to feet to weather his leaving without worry of falling.

He'd relied on her strength to carry his weakness, for DG was more whole than he, and it was with no small amount of shame that he'd born that burden as far as he had.

Such were his roving thoughts; whatever DG concerned herself with, he didn't know, nor was he inclined to ask. There were more important things to be concerned with; he couldn't deny that his presence at his side – or hers at his, he hadn't yet decided – was no small coincidence. At the very least, he could balance the scales again, stand at the ready to catch her when she inevitably stumbled along this path she'd set for herself.

He owed her nothing less.

"So we go south," he said.

"I guess we do," she replied. She walked past him, a few steps beyond where he'd anchored himself. Then, she said, her voice uncertain and small, "The books said –"

"I don't know 'bout what was in your books, kiddo," he said, "but I'd wager that most of what was written in them was done after the fact, annuals after the last living memory had passed on." Sometimes fabricated. Mostly accurate.

"History is written by the victors."

He frowned. "Somethin' like that. I can't tell you anything more than what the mutt's told you; isn't exactly my area of expertise."

"Tutor's repeated the same creationist myths of the Ancients to me over and over since we left Finaqua," DG said darkly. "Four powerful witches who fought for supremacy when the world began. Light won out over dark, and the rest is – well, the rest just is. The four had abandoned the O.Z. long before the Gales." She sighed. "He doesn't know how the witch that – how the _thing_ that took my sister was one of those four, but Azkadellia said it _was_."

"You believe her?"

"Not her. Not Az, I mean," she said. "The Mystic Man. He knew, too. When he –"

Cain stiffened, an automatic response that didn't shake away as easily as he would have liked. "When what, darlin'?"

"He confronted Az – I mean the Sorceress – right before she killed him." She swallowed hard. "He said, _'I know you, witch.' _Those were his last words. At least, I think... I don't –"

He felt a heaviness descend in his chest as he watched DG wrap her arms around herself, her head hanging with the memory. Her dark, unfinished admission wormed its way into the deepest parts of his mind where he knew without doubt that the empty, echoing words would never leave him. Even if he would one day forget how small and utterly human that DG seemed that night, her words – the old man's words – would never cease their hold on him.

"DG," he said, and she raised her chin to look at him with eyes highlighted by the pale moons; colourless eyes, no sweet blue. "Seems to me we've had this talk before. Letting the past drag you down isn't –"

"The _past_?" she said suddenly, sharply; her arms dropped from their defensive cross over her stomach to ball her fists at her sides. "What _is_ the past, exactly, and what's _history_ other than words in a book? Books that the Sorceress had destroyed!"

He closed his eyes for a moment; he wasn't up for this, where the hell was the zipperhead when he was truly needed? "That isn't exactly –"

"No," she said firmly, though there was no anger in her voice, and for that he supposed he should be grateful, "no, this is it exactly. Dorothy Gale slipped over almost two centuries. If the High Four were said to have abandoned the Outer Zone long before the arrival of Dorothy Gale, then why do the stories all say she had the blessing of Glinda, or Glinneth, or _whoever_!"

"Those stories are nothing but –"

"_Fairytales_, I remember. Stories for _children_," she said. "You call me 'kiddo' and then are surprised I want to believe the _fairytale_ instead of the hard-proven _history_ written by an old man, copied from what was written by another old man!S"

Without replying, for there was no right answer he could give, Cain sighed and moved off the path, leaning his back against the straight, knotted trunk of a tree. It was steady and strong, it supported his weight when his own legs were too damn tired to do it any more. Short of the world turning itself upside down, the tree wouldn't give out on him and it was the kind of trust that was wanting in the Zone these days, a beaten ex-Tin Man and a godsdamned _tree._

She was still waiting on his response, though, and she wasn't going away. Cain looked up at the sky, down at the forest floor, anywhere but at that faintly hopeful face. In bright sunslight, he wondered if he'd be able to handle it, those piercing blue eyes. Here, hiding under the blanket of night, the lines blurred, and what terrified him most was not the fading of their boundaries but how comfortable he was beginning to find the possibility. That she came closer at that moment was only natural progression, the new way of things. She slid her back down the trunk until she'd folded into a neat and relaxed huddle near his feet; listing against him, it wasn't the tree supporting her, but _him_.

He looked down at her, thinking that she'd be watching him, expecting; her face was not upturned to take him in, but staring out into the deepest parts of the night. Unsure of what to say, of what she wanted, he waited until she'd gathered up her thoughts enough to tell him, and as was the usual way, he was sorely disappointed when she did.

"Tell me a story," she said. Such a simple request.

He sighed. "Nothing I can tell you that you haven't heard before."

"I want to hear you tell me."

"Deege –"

"Wyatt, _please_?"

Whatever fight he'd planned on putting up, her soft appeal turned it all back on him. There hadn't been an instance in all the time he'd known her where she'd called him by his given name, always keeping herself at a distance, his surname a safer distance than the familiarity of what few ever called him. _Wyatt_, she'd said.

Was it truly defeat if he only relented this one little bit? What could it hurt, in the end?

Wyatt. He wondered if it wasn't too late to go back to that 'mister' business.

Cursing himself, his patron, and the very Zone itself, he sank down to sit beside her. With one leg stretched out before him, he bent his other knee, and this was where he perched his hat as he took it off to run a hand over his face. Stalling, building her up to the point that she nudged him with her elbow, impatient like.

"The way I remember it, starts off with a little girl fallin' out of the sky and getting herself caught up in all sorts of trouble," he said, smirking despite himself. "You should know this one by rote."

"Just because you know something by heart doesn't mean you don't like hearing it once in a while," she said sensibly. She looked up at him, gave him a small smile. "Just so you know."

Fair enough. "Little girl landed, house and all, in the east," he said, pulling up memories of the tale as they came to him. A story with no one right way to tell it; Adora's soft laughter came back to him, scolding him for telling it wrong to their son. He cleared his throat, swallowing the memory back down as hard as it had just hit him. "She landed her house on a wicked witch, dead and buried forever beneath the cellar door. That brought the attention of another witch, this one about as good as they come, and she gave the girl the protection she was going to need. That's where the slippers come into it."

DG shifted against him. "And then she followed the Old Road."

"New road, back then," he said, and she gave a dismissive little sniff. "Found some friends along the way. Sound familiar yet?"

"Our lives aren't a fairytale," she said, wise and deep and sad all at once, and he regretted trying to bait her. "Tell me where it gets different, Cain –" And here, he felt a wave of relief that she hadn't uttered his given name again, "– Tell me where it stops being true, if even any of it is true." She moved then, exposing her back to the night so that she could crouch in front of him, face him dead-on. For all her unreadable emotion, he was glad then for the shadows that hid her eyes, for he ventured then that the fire that undoubtedly raged was fierce enough to burn him.

"Why do you need to hear this again?" he asked. "Why from me?"

She fell back a little, resting on her heels, but she offered him no response.

Cain sighed, knowing he was being a bastard about it; after all, was it really too much to ask?

"The little girl and her friends walked the road to the city, to visit a mystic who would return her home. Instead, he sent her and her magic shoes to kill the second wicked witch." He paused, knowing this is what she'd been wanting to hear him say all along. "And so, she did. She killed the witch's sister, but after all her trouble, the mystic was a fraud who couldn't help her."

DG nodded slowly. He waited for her to interrupt him again, but she managed control of her tongue long enough for him to finish. "And so with nowhere left to turn, the little girl went lookin' for the help of the last witch, the most powerful; not as nice as the first witch, but just as good. And she sent the little girl home."

Bedtime version, short and sweet. Good for instilling values in little hearts – that is, if the war hadn't come to wither and jade the hearts and lives of those little ones. Not a one person he'd met along the road in these months since the war, not one had held such fanciful reasoning in them any longer.

DG, though... DG hadn't known the war, hadn't grown with the shadow of the Longcoats lurking ever over her shoulder. She'd known sunshine, a full belly, love where others, such as his son, had known fear and cold and emptiness. Adora's arms would've been stiff, and thin, not enough.

"Did she go alone?"

DG's voice, sudden and quiet, broke into his thoughts, an actual shattering that sent him reeling.

"What?"

"The girl, did she go alone?" She'd crept up while he was thinking and was close to sitting on his legs now; she knelt with legs folded underneath, hands flat on the tops of her legs.

With a sigh, he gave her half a smile, though he wondered if she could see it in the gloom. "'Course not."

"Good," she said, and then she was standing, a single, swift burst. He stood, though more slow and careful were his own movements, replacing his hat as he went. "Thanks," she said, "I know you don't believe in that stuff, Cain."

"Not so much a case of believing this time, if you ask me," he said. "More like a cause for trust, and no, I don't trust it, and neither should you."

"I don't," she said, "I just –"

"It's okay, darlin'," he said, and he brought his hand to rest on her shoulder. He drew her in under his chin, holding her fast with one arm. She hesitated, initially anyway, tugging back against the pull, but she came easily enough, allowing him to shelter her this brief moment, as if she were certain it was all he'd ever have to give her. Her hands she braced on his chest, folding her arms between them, still with her careful walls.

He didn't need her to explain herself, didn't _want_ her to. He knew all too well, somewhere in the deep cavity of his chest where his heart presumably still pumped on, what hope could do to a person, and how crushing the defeat could be. Eight annuals of torture and loss had let that tiny gleam of hope blind him at the thought of his family still living, and in the end, he'd been forced to lose his wife again, and he'd just barely managed to grab hold of his son before he slipped through his hands forever.

There was no telling this girl shivering against him that she should give it up, hold onto what she had left and let go of what was always meant to leave her. She was too stubborn, and he–

Damn it.

Pressed up against him as she was, she felt him stiffen, and she pulled back enough to get a view of his face. Her hands were still on his chest, flat palms small and barely there through his vest. She moved half a step back, her hands falling away and leaving naught but empty spaces in their absence, but she stayed close, and his hand – heavier now that he was trying his damnedest not to shake – remained on her shoulder.

"We should head back," she said quietly, and he nodded in compliance. He allowed her to lead the way, staying those few steps back all the while, never having the courage to walk beside her as he should. Everything he'd run from was falling back into familiar place, and he was bound here, to her; with no option to turn back. They were going to see where the road led them.

What worse time was there for a heart to vie for a second chance.


	20. The Rhythm of Rain

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

* * *

_When Last We Met: Cain continues to follow DG south, trying to dodge both Royal Army and the New Resistance. Soon, they will reach the Ruby Mountains, seeking passage to the very ends of the Outer Zone, the shores of the desert sandsea, where they might find hope to save Lavender's life. _

* * *

_Author's Note: Sorry about the delay. Death and taxes. And computer issues. Not in that particular order. Still...  
_

**Chapter Twenty: The Rhythm of Rain**

It was with great relief that Cain left the forest of the Eastern guild, leading the others on a direct route that took them out of the trees and back onto the bricks in a matter of hours; no steady wandering for a full day, no, not this time. If they put in two twelve-hour days, limited their rest without being too hard on the horses, they'd reach the foothills of the Ruby Mountains, farther south yet than the borders of Finaqua, in good time.

Easier said than done; what wasn't these days?

Their first night was spent on the southern edge of the Fields of the Papay, more green yet than he could remember and the treelimbs were still budding. The breeze that night carried the scent of fresh life from the fields, giving his heart more hope for the Zone than he'd ever thought to feel again.

Perhaps Bluesire was in sight of Central City by now; he'd departed the village long before the outsiders had gathered their things and bid goodbye to the Easterners who'd showed them such hospitality – their brand of it, anyhow. Cain couldn't rightly decide for himself if Bluesire's report to Azkadellia would do them any favours. Couldn't hurt, was all he could tell himself.

DG had sat with him that night, close enough for her arm to press against the length of his, for him to feel that warmth through the sleeve of his duster and know that he was as comforting a presence to her as she was to him, and he left it at that. He sent her to bed when she'd started to nod off, and she'd gone reluctantly. For all the hours that they'd sat together in the cool of summer night, fewer words were said. Didn't seem to be a need for them, not just then.

She'd said his name again, yawning after like it'd drained her. _Wyatt_. He'd looked down at her, and noticed she tended to pout her lips when she was tired.

It had kept him up, that had.

Field behind, gorge ahead.

The next morning was damp and the sky threatened rain. He rode most of the day accompanied by the chill that had crept inside his duster while he slept, which had woken him up to a dour mood; more so affected were his companions, short-tempered and sniffling. The overcast sky matched the pall that had descended over each of them, and just as the cover of cloud seemed to follow them south, they couldn't outrun their miseries.

* * *

The Route Patrol at the bridge spanning the gorge turned from nuisance to hindrance to out and out delay. So many damned questions. Cain sat back patiently, for the first while anyway, watching as DG and Glitch wove their true intention with sugar-coated alibi. Most to all was dependent solely on those sky eyes of DG's; there was no disbelieving when she fixed you with that wide open, honest stare – you'd most like believe in anything she told you, under that gaze. Like the possibility of pleading for a life at the gown's hem of the most powerful being to have ever walked the Zone. Yes, bull just like that.

The men who guarded the Route didn't stand a chance. He'd smirked at the thought, almost amused.

It'd be his last cheered moment for a long while to come, he'd know later on.

All said and done, it was close to an hour before he was hearing the sweet clamour of brick, and little else, once again. Midday passed with little more to mark it than a short rest, a drink for the horses. The sky continued to hold back her bounty, but the seams of cloud would break ere long, and they'd be drenched.

Gorge behind, marshland ahead.

He took them off the Brick Route, following a well-used byway that would take them 'round Finaqua, far away from maze and magic. How far south they would journey on this road, there was no telling. More than anything, he despised that particular uncertainty, and all its variations.

DG, and her Light, would be their compass. It had worked before, apparently, during the search for the emerald, didn't he remember?

He'd kept his mouth shut on what he remembered. Someone, somewhere, grant him patience.

There were, at least to his outdated knowledge, a number of passes through the Ruby mountains, if one was ever inclined to go so far out of their way as to get their eyeful of sandsea; he'd known precious few in his life who'd seen the empty desolation that surrounded the Outer Zone, and none who'd done it from a southern viewpoint. Still, it wasn't impossible to imagine that someone might live their life on the borderlands and never be known to the world, nor be disturbed by the passage of time; never hear of famine or war or emeralds, never know the Gales had regained power, or even know they'd lost it to begin with. Somehow, though, he doubted that'd be the case.

As it was, such meandering thoughts were driven clear from his mind as the road became bogged, the mire not too deep but enough to slow their progress; add to that, the noseeums were coming at him with a vengeance, so it was no wonder there was very little room for idle thought.

And so their afternoon stretched on.

Glitch was the first to finally break the silence with well-voiced complaints. Honestly, Cain would have included it with his growing list of annoyances, if he hadn't been so yearning for some sort of distraction to take his mind off the damp and the flies.

Marshland behind, marshland ahead...

* * *

The rain started late afternoon, taking care of the insect problem even as the cold droplets slid down their necks and into their collars. The absence of wind served in their favour, keeping the rain at their backs, but within fifteen minutes, it didn't matter. To the skins, they were all soaked.

The road grew muddy and their pace slowed all the more. As evening began to descend, faster for the cloud cover and the curtains of rain, Cain began to worry. They'd lost almost half the day to this miserable trudging.

A roof would serve them well, despite the cost and trouble to attain it.

There'd been marked on the map a town that they should've passed by that time; what was left of Ammenium after the purge of the Sorceress' war was anyone's guess, that much was certain, but unless he wanted to sacrifice well-being for miles travelled, there'd be little other choice. Farther south, there was nothing but Finaqua itself; the Realm of the Unwanted was to the west, and far placed out of their way.

He'd have them gather their bearings under a roof, have them sleep in beds. Even he was growing road weary. This damned _rain._

He put it off for as long as he could, but when he found what little shelter he could near a stand of scraggly tamarack, Cain called for a stop.

"We should be thinking about callin' it quits for today," he said.

DG glowered at him, dismounting as he had. "Last time I heard that, I wound up flat on my back surrounded by hobgoblin rejects."

Cain rolled his eyes as Raw tried hide a snigger. Toto, for his part, growled at Cain's feet half-heartedly before slumping down into the mud and wet grass to rest, tongue lolling.

"Can't we keep going?" DG asked. "It can't be much farther."

"Much farther until _what_, Doll?" Glitch asked, trying his best against unkindness. "There isn't anything on the other side of the swamp except more road and more trees."

"And more rain," Raw said, shivering in his furs.

"That isn't so," Cain said. "Ammenium's only a few more hours southeast of here. Only a bit of a detour."

DG looked uncertain; Glitch pulled a face.

After a long minute of awkward silence, in which the loudest sound was the beat of rain against the brim of his hat, DG sighed, flicking her eyes in his direction as she said, "Are you actually suggesting we find a town to spend the night in?"

Another pause, and then Raw spoke up. "Is it safe?"

Cain snorted. "'Bout as safe as anything else we've done this past week. We keep our heads down and leave before dawn, aren't many people that'll take note of us."

Glitch took the opportunity to tug at his collar, though it wouldn't stretch any higher to cover more of his throat. "Might be a good idea to get out of this rain. Stabling the horses might not be a bad idea, either."

DG looked from face to face; she even took a moment to glance down at the damn dog, who took her attention as a cue to stand up and shake the water from his fur. Frowning, she sighed, and conceded.

"If it means getting out of this rain, then."

* * *

History repeats, and sometimes it likes to do it often. There was never any getting away from it, and Cain had always known this. Sometimes, however, he found it necessary to remind himself to focus on what set it apart from every same old return to same old.

He wondered how lucky they'd be coming out of it this time 'round.

He had plenty of time to think about it as they pressed on toward Ammenium. The muddy road that had made its way through open, soggy fields eventually led over a creek that snaked back on itself time and time again. The road cut a straight path, a series of timber bridges spanning the lazy, stagnant flow. Raindrops disrupted the surface of the murky water; there was no judging the depth.

It was all familiar, even if he had no memories of crossing this particular creek, which wound its way to a particular lake in this oft untravelled expanse, where the trees of the thick, untamed forest began to encroach on the banks. Familiarity wasn't in their surroundings, not in the trees or the water or even the infinity of the grey, weeping sky. It was in his understanding; in his heart, in all their hearts. Not just the urgency, but the inescapable obligation that chased them forward. While their individual pursuits might divide them, what bound them was more compelling a drive.

The night ahead would be a long one. Rest, as it happened, was the farthest thing from his mind.

Showing up in Ammenium meant taking a risk, and though Cain had expected Raw to at least voice concern if not outright object, that the others had yet to worry about little more than lost time didn't escape his notice. Far from slipping his mind, Bluesire's warning of factious insurgents farther south rang clear and loud at the fore of his every move and thought.

He didn't need to worry about DG. Raw would draw the eye faster than she; it'd take the right person to get a good look at her to cause any sort of fuss, and even then, there was the off chance that even then, nothing would come of it. DG, wet and wrung as she was, could hardly command a likeness to any grainy, black and white photograph out of a two-month-old issue of the Central Gazette anyhow.

Still, their luck had never been known to hold out; this rain, however, and the miles they'd lost today, gave him reason to wonder if they were due for a bit of a break.

Predictable, though, as an hour went by, same as any other had that day; predictable it was that sky darkened and the rain picked up. The trees did little to shelter them, as the road had widened out of the bog. The constant drone of water drops through the branches above them, leaves still tightly furled; a beat that held no rhythm, no semblance of order, nor of chaos, either. The second hour saw very little change, but for the growing dark.

It was almost by chance that they finally came across the well-marked fork that opened the way to Ammenium Township. Another hour and the woods would be so dark as to hide any evidence that the road branched off at all. Cain wanted so much to pick up the pace, ride full out until they reached the lights of the village, but he had no idea what would greet them when they arrived. A night watchman was the best possible scenario he could hope for; it was entirely possible that they'd run up against some kind of fortification, a gate or a tower perhaps. In the emerald-haunted annuals, there'd been no such thing as paranoia. Even now, this far off the route, there still wasn't.

Finally, there was a tinge of wood smoke in the air.

"Don't need to remind anyone to stick close, do I?" Cain called out to the others behind him, not bothering to turn around.

No response, though DG heaved a put-upon sigh that was audible even over the rain.

_I hear you, Princess, I hear you._

Before a quarter of an hour had passed, the forest began to thin, and not much longer that that, they were quite suddenly out of the woods, at the edges of overgrown fields sectioned off by broken fence. The road narrowed some, and surely enough, was flanked by two blinds on rickety scaffolding, torches hissing and dancing in their brackets.

A boy, no older than his son, was sitting on a rung of the ladder that gave access to the blind. His rifle was left leaning up against the scaffolding, out of immediate reach. The kid, looking like a drowned rat, was bored out of his skull, so lost in his own thought that he didn't hear the approach of horses until Cain and the others were nearly upon him, on the very edge of the wavering circle of light cast by the torches.

"That rifle isn't gonna do you much good over there, boy," Cain said, by way of a greeting.

For what it was worth, and that was very little indeed, the kid jumped a clear three feet away from the ladder, scrambling to gain his footing. It was another moment before he was reaching for his firearm; Cain rolled his eyes, mentally noting he could have drawn his own gun and shot the poor bastard dead twice by that time.

And never once did the kid pull the hammer back from its half-cock notch. Cain, however, didn't doubt for a second the kid could hit his mark.

"Saw a sign saying empty rooms," Cain said when the boy did little more than aim a barrel at his chest.

"What's your business here?" the kid asked, voice steadier than Cain would've first guessed.

"No business. Got a bit turned around, 'bout every lake looks the same around here."

The kid's lip twitched, but he caught himself before a smile broke out. "Need a guide, then?"

"Nope, just a few rooms."

Lowering his barrel a few inches, the kid gestured a chin over his shoulder. "I bet them down at the inn would be glad for the business. Can't miss it on the left, big building, only one with paint."

Cain nodded. "Much obliged to you."

Stepping back, the kid let them pass into Ammenium. A dirt road led to a row of wooden structures that seemed to have sprung up fully formed from the ground, and so close together that they almost looked to be leaning on one another for support. A number of side streets were crowded with houses, the only evidence of their existence the lights that burned in their windows, barely visible through the steady rain.

As the kid had said, the inn was by far the easiest to pick out, coloured lanterns hanging from the eaves of the roof that covered the wide porch. A back building near the edge of the forest was what Cain hoped to be a barn or stable where he could put up the horses. He didn't like the thought of leaving them hitched out in the rain.

Before he went inside, he turned on Glitch and DG, huddling close together. "I don't wanna see either one of you talkin' to anyone, you understand?"

Glitch blew out a breathy, offended exclamation. "Yeah, I don't wanna see a'either one of ya telling no strangers of our secret plans, ya hear?" His deep, slow drawl in obvious imitation made Cain scowl, but there was no point in arguing and he left his four companions shivering on the porch.

As it turned out, the inn had more space for horses than for people riding them. The three rooms he rented were all that the place had, small but clean and warm, serving their purpose. The inn-keeper, grizzled and half-drunk, paid close attention to DG as she climbed the stairs after the others, but it was to Cain's displeasure to know that it was due more to her wet, clinging slacks than a familiar face.

Once the others were safely put away in their rooms, Cain saw to the horses, and it wasn't until he was inside of the stable and the animals were penned that he heard the distinct rush of a shift, and Tutor had cleared his throat. Half-turning, Cain saw him lingering just inside the door, a great bulk of shadow.

"What do you want, pooch?"

"What would give you the impression that I do," Tutor mused. "Want something, that is."

Cain snorted, and went back to hanging tack. "You don't volunteer to talk to me unless there's a reason."

"Yes, well..." And here the old man trailed off, never seeming to want to get around to his point, no matter how pressing. For a number of very long minutes, all Cain heard was the drum of rain on the wood plank roof, and the rustling of the horses in the stalls.

Gods, but did he hate waiting.

"Tomorrow we let DG take lead," Tutor finally said, as conversationally as if there'd been no overly thoughtful pause. "We could be there in as little as four days."

Cain frowned. "_There_? Where is _there_, exactly, do you even have a guess?"

"My guess is as good as yours, Mr. Cain. How good is your guess?"

A hard sigh, and then, "And you think DG is going to know which way to go."

Tutor came forward a few steps, still far enough out of the lamplight as to hide his features. Learning, it seemed, to keep his distance from an observer such as Cain.

"DG is sensitive to things you and I could never imagine, as I'm sure you're well aware by now," Tutor said, deftly patronising. "Raw, too, perhaps, but DG is _more_ than sensitive to it, she's – she's –"

"She's curious," Cain said, smirking.

"Aptly put, Mr. Cain." Tutor gave a low chuckle; it seemed out of place, as the man was usually so solemn. Without another word, he turned on his heel and headed out of the stable, disappearing as quickly as he'd shown up, leaving Cain with a deep set worry that had long since started gnawing at him.

A strong gust of wind barraged the roof with rain. Cain looked up, half expecting water to come leaking in, but it was solid.

Out east, his barn still needed shingling.

Sighing heavily, Cain lifted the lantern off the peg and blew out the flame.


	21. Roads Diverged

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

* * *

_When Last We Met: Rain has chased the companions to seek refuge in Ammenium Township, where Cain hopes they'll be able to make their final decision on a southern route. The passage of times weighs heavier on their minds as the days have faded into weeks, with only DG's hope pressing them on._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty One: Roads Diverged**

Some kind soul had seen to it that there was a meal waiting for him in his room, a basin of hot water beside it, and for that, Cain was grateful beyond words. Where the others had gotten to wasn't his immediate concern; he didn't delude himself in thinking that any one of them would stay put, but the sight of a steaming supper demanded equal attention. In the end, his stomach made the decision for him.

As he ate, he couldn't stop his mind from its musing; here they were, sheltered in another calm, one they were lucky to have come across. There'd be no leaving at dawn, not as he'd wanted to, but it'd be early morning at the least and that was enough for him. Out of the rain, but listening to it beat against the eaves all the same, he wasn't inclined to push the others.

A quiet room, a warm meal; it was hard to walk away from, always was. The to or from of it never seemed to matter as much, just that reason to stay.

There'd be no staying, though, not this time – but it wasn't the closest his mind had come to about settling down somewhere a little nearer to DG, and that had recently caused no end to his concern.

It was then, to shut down his own wistful mind, that he finished washing and went to find the others, knowing even as he left his room buttoning his vest that the girl would be the first he sought out. As it turned out, she'd be the last he came across.

The inn in which they stayed – the Wellspring, if he remembered correctly – had only the three small rooms, all branching off a central common area atop a balcony that overlooked the front doors. Immediately below was the desk and office, and what Cain assumed to be the owner's living quarters.

Outside his room, the gas lamps were turned up high, an unforgiving glow revealing the worn condition of his surroundings; and in the middle of the washed out, threadbare gloom was Glitch, just exposing his knobby elbows as he shoved his sleeves up. The silk back of his waistcoat was splash of brilliant blue. Tucked away into a corner, and watching Glitch with a frown on his face, was Raw, blending in too well with the dusty furniture and fading wallpaper.

At the sight of Cain, Raw shook his head in Glitch's direction.

"Can't change lines on paper by staring hard," he said. Surely enough, when Cain craned his neck, he could make out the sheet Glitch was studying was indeed a map, and not one of their own. Curious now, and against his better judgement, he stepped in for a closer look over Glitch's shoulder.

"It isn't those lines I worry about," he said slowly, as his mind took a moment to orient itself with the Qualdin Basin. "It's the mountains and forests they stand for that have got me wondering."

"Our best bet looks to be this route that runs through the Colibri plain," Glitch said; with his finger he drew a line from their current point, Ammenium, sharply east to skirt the edges of the Black Forest and then farther southward. "Unless we want to double-back the way we came to the Finaquan juncture and head south from there, but that would take us very close to the estate."

Cain frowned. "What's DG had to say about any of this?"

"Nothing so far. Hasn't come out of her room."

Glancing up at the closed door he'd watched her disappear through an hour or more before, Cain sighed, and went back to the map of the southern province. Judging distance, it was only a few hours to Finaqua heading west, back the way they'd come, just as Glitch had said. Beyond the palace and the lakes surrounding it, there was nothing but wilderness.

"Looks to be a saddle here, if we follow this river," he said, pressing his finger heavily to the map.

"And this valley opens up to the other side; we could be in the rain shadows in three days."

Three days. Lavender could be dead in three days, or perhaps she was dead already and the news hadn't caught up with them; perhaps she lingered on, never changing. Through all this wandering, what had they managed to accomplish, but to pile more doubt and worry and gods-damned hope onto their already overloaded consciences.

Growling, Cain pushed himself away from the table. "And what is it exactly you're hopin' DG is gonna do?"

Glitch opened his mouth to respond, but seemed to have none ready; his expression fell flat as Cain glared at him expectantly.

Cain sighed. "Right."

"It's all still in accordance with Lavender's wishes," Glitch added with an air of optimism.

"Somehow, I'm doubtin' that."

Raw stood from his chair, slow and careful. "Mother marked child for greatness. Mother made DG who she is. Cannot ask DG to change now."

Glitch tossed Cain a smug grin from across the table, validated by Viewer. Raw, on the other hand, only shrugged his shoulders with a peaceful expression gracing not only his face but the utter whole of him. _It is what it is_, everything about him said, standing back with infinite patience as the humans around him tried to dissect every option and possibility, ever searching for that elusive _'why'_ that would force their world into sense.

Though it was no time to all of a sudden take Raw's passive presence into renewed appreciation, it reminded Cain all too clearly of his own preoccupation with matters far beyond his control; but when he didn't need to focus solely on protecting those around him, what else was there to concern himself with but what the future held for them – and how he could keep it in his own hands.

His eyes went back to the map. Three days was far too conservative an estimate given the inclement weather. Still, the suns had to come back out sometime. Three days to reach the borderlands, but how many to search? And to return?

He went back to the table, leaning heavily on his fisted hands, the tops of his knuckles cracking under the bulk of his weight. "We could be out there for weeks," he said, "with no guarantees. Lavender's situation being what it is, I don't fancy taking DG out of the–"

Glitch flashed a grin as he interrupted Cain. "She's going with or without you, Tin Man. It's more like she's taking you."

"We're going to need some sort of assurance," Cain pressed, his voice hardening.

"If something happened to Lady Lavender," Glitch said, not missing a beat, "then word would travel fast, even as far south as this; the resistance would make certain of it. We were in the mideast not two days ago, and there was no news."

Cain bit back the lashing that wanted to tear out of his mouth, and took a deep breath before opening his mouth. "If Lavender passes," and here he stopped himself and forced himself to mutter a quick, "Gods forbid," before pausing, exhaling heavily, "then Azkadellia's going to need DG in Central, and fast. If we're out scouring the –"

Whatever else he was going to say, it died in his throat as Tutor came out of DG's room, the girl in tow and looking far too pale, far too focused. She was pushing too hard, whether for herself, for her own conscience, or for those of the others who stood behind her, it was all too abundantly clear that it was starting to catch up to her. Subdued, that would have been Cain's choice of phrase for the mask she wore; whatever storm raged within her, she hid it well.

"If my mother wants me to stay away, then that's what I'll do," she said, blue eyes seeking out each friendly face in turn; Cain was last, and it was on his face she lingered. Was she daring him to challenge her?

"This isn't just a few days leisure in the mountains, Deege," he said; if she so chose to lock eyes with him, who was he to look away? There was no bending his will, just as there was no breaking her resolve. They were all in this, and in it deep; together, it seemed, with no fortunes or promises to draw them forward, only shame and guilt to drive them from behind.

"Don't try lecturing me now, Cain."

He clenched his jaw; in front of the others, his surname. He wondered how high those walls of hers went, and how far she actually ever ventured from them, even for him.

"I'm sure there isn't a lecture the rest haven't given you already," he said, making it a point to sweep his eyes in Tutor's direction. "But I'm not sure you're gonna know when to give it up."

"I have a feeling you'll point out the end if we ever come to it," she said, her voice tinged with anger.

"That an order, princess?"

He was certain that if he'd responded in usual form, she would have had some dry, witty remark ready for him, but as it was, he'd knocked the speech clean off her lips, and the pause was deafening. Every uncomfortable shift, each wary glance among their companions echoed off the emptiness. He saw her then, just plain scared standing before him, waiting for answers to fall out of the sky; didn't trust herself, doubting those who told her she continued to do the right thing.

How could any of them really know to tell her what was right, what wasn't.

All that in a single pause. Wasn't good, the way she could turn his brain on him like that with one –

"We're going south," she said, steady as she could keep herself while her eyes still burned into him. "As far south as we can go, wherever that is."

"The southernmost tip of the Zone is the Bur'zaen Overlook," Glitch said, tapping the map as if not a one of them had eyes to see for themselves. The rocky shores of the southern sandsea, the very edge of the Outer Zone, where the sheer cliffs tapered into a cape; a vast stretch of empty desert where sandships would not sail. Beyond the desert was said to be a land engulfed by an ancient wood, mammoth trees with leaves that scraped the sky and roots that reached down to the very core of the world.

To say the overlook was remote left it wanting. To anyone of Zone descent, it was the end of the world.

"In the east, General did say south," Raw said. "Over mountain, and plain."

"There's a hell of a lot to the south of Bluesire's village," Cain said, ignoring Raw and staring pointedly at DG. "He barely told you a damn thing."

"No one ever tells me a damn thing, Cain," she said, words he would have expected her to shout, but they fell from her tongue, heavy and hollow. "You've never noticed?"

He stayed silent, unable to immediately prove her wrong.

She softened then, frowning at him, those sky eyes seeing and knowing far more than he normally gave her credit for. "It's enough, isn't it?" she asked.

He lowered his chin, turned his head so that he might momentarily close his eyes and sigh. "If you're sure."

A pause, and then, "I'm not."

He raised an eyebrow; caution's query. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Glitch put a hand over his eyes, and bow his head. DG, for all her good intention, was quiet.

"You give us the word, kiddo," he said, after long moments had passed by, "and we turn around and head home with no questions asked. That sound all right by you?"

For what it was worth, she nodded. "Thank you."

It crossed his mind to say more, but there was nothing beyond more blind promises that he could offer. Instead, he gave her the only thing he knew they could both wholly rely on. He went back to the map.

"If we're heading dead south, there's no point in waylaying ourselves to the eastern pass in Colibri..."

* * *

Hours later, Cain lingered in the dark downstairs, next to the empty fireplace. But for the rhythmic snores of the landlord in his back office and the continued patter of rain against the windows, there was very little to mark the passage of time. He was untouched here, without need or want, and it was as close to peace as he was libel to get. And that, he found, he didn't mind.

Come morning, the five of them would ride south; the greatest obstacle they would face would be getting past Finaqua unseen. It was DG's request, and it was one he had no problem granting. The woods were plenty thick enough, and riddled with roads older than the ones that had carried them thus far.

Four or five days would see them safely through the mountains. Passage wouldn't be difficult; though the trade routes had long been abandoned, they still remained, marked on the map of the southern province that Glitch had dug up for them. With any luck –

He stopped himself cold. No point in banking on luck.

Sighing to himself, he leaned an elbow on the bare, dusty mantelpiece. Upstairs, the others slept. There was a bed for him up there, one that he hoped would be relatively clean, but there was no denying that whatever the state of the bed, it was still preferable to a night spent on the soft, soggy ground. The rain, he hoped, would let up by morning.

Above him, a creak. More rain, sheets of it coming down on the roof, echoing in the eaves. Another long, low groan of floorboards.

Someone wasn't sleeping.

He understood her restlessness, more than he'd first considered, which surprised him. She was a worrier by nature, and there'd been more than enough to ponder in the last few weeks to add to those dark shadows she'd begun to carry under her eyes. He didn't like the thought of her pacing a lonely room; he pictured her bare feet padding against a worn rug. He wondered if she was chewing at her lip, as she often did when deep in thought.

Quite a pair they made, stewing alone, separately, in that strange, temporary refuge.

It should have come as nothing of a shock to find himself mounting the stairs, but he was shaking his head at himself the entire way. The light spilling out from under her door was weak at best, but it was there. The shadow she cast as she moved between the door and the light was swift and utterly silent, and as he approached, she stopped moving all together behind that door. Were his footsteps in the hall truly loud enough to give away his presence?

He smirked at the thought of her scolding him for his lack of stealth. He, the lecturer, caught running afoul of his own advice.

Cain knocked gently on her door; she was too quick to answer, but hesitant to see for sure who was on the other side.

"Get your coat," he told her, and she opened the door the wider to get a better look at him, to allow the light from her room to fall on him.

"Where are we going?" she asked, leaning her head listlessly against the door jamb. The curiosity was bright in her eyes; for a moment he just watched her, musing over the fact that she hadn't said _'no'_ outright. "Well?" she pressed, raising an eyebrow.

"Just hurry, would you? I don't know about you, darlin', but I'd rather this not take all night."

* * *

_Author's Note: Dragon Age II eated my brain, and possibly my muse. She's such a two-timing trollop. _


	22. A Seed of Doubt

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

* * *

_When Last We Met: Finally with a point to head toward, the five companions take rest in the small township of Ammenium, before undertaking the long-untravelled roads through the southern mountains. Cain, however, will not head idly to the very edge of the Outer Zone, seeking instead reassurance - and taking DG with him._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Two: A Seed of Doubt**

Cain had never walked the twisted, narrow roads of Ammenium, but there was nothing here that didn't speak to him, every pock and rut a happening, every footprint pressed into the fresh mud a story. He'd tread too many roads to remember them all. He wouldn't remember this one.

The night was black as pitch. Most of the street lamps had sputtered out, and those that fought to shine on were weak and ineffectual for all the struggling. The late hour near guaranteed no windows burning bright with life within, save for one open doorway at the far end of the lane. Even through the rain, that rectangle of light was sharp and clear.

Behind him, DG cleared her throat. "Care to tell me where we're going yet?"

Cain chuckled to himself. The girl could traipse from one end of the country to the other chasing ghosts and memories without a word against it, but she couldn't make it from one end of the village to the other without tripping him up every step of the way with her questions.

"Thought maybe we could both do with a quiet drink," he said, now that the guild hall was in sight.

She gave a short laugh. "You're not serious."

"Not really, no," he said. "I had the notion to put an ear out for news while we're here. Figured I'd ask you outright to tag along instead of listening to you try follow me. Hard to keep two eyes on a shadow."

"Oh." Was she trying very hard to sound insulted, or had he truly struck a nerve?

"I can walk you back if you'd like."

"No," she said. "Just – you aren't worried about me being recognised?"

He stopped, and turned to face her; she pulled up short within arm's reach. Her hood was sodden and heavy, hair plastered to her forehead. "You mind your manners in there, I doubt we'll run into any trouble."

"Then you're in luck. Mother took my etiquette lessons on herself."

"We aren't stopping for tea," he said, smirking.

"Good, because I'm not properly dressed for tea." She smiled at him, something real and honest and sudden.

He found it was a great deal easier to drag her with him when she was smiling as he did so. As that thought passed through his mind, he reached out and touched her elbow, gave her a little tug to get her moving again. She nodded at him, flashed him another smile, sadder somehow for all the familiarity of the gesture. He fell into step behind her, his hand falling away far too late for his fingers to simply forget the feel of her jacket. He was brushing them against his palm in near annoyance when she said from ahead of him, "You didn't exactly answer my question."

He thought back. "Then your answer is 'no'."

"Why not?"

Cain sighed; he kept his tongue in his head and his foot out of his mouth, relieved when she didn't press him. He didn't need to tell her that she'd be noticed more for her sweet, pretty face than for her familiar one. Pale, wet, and poorly dressed rarely passed for _princess_, no matter where one happened to be. "Just don't take your hood down, all right?"

Keep those dark Gale curls hidden.

"Yes, sir." Said in jest, it still caused him to cringe.

The road was empty before them, ending at the gap of light that was their destination; with the rain and the chill, the absence of others was hardly something to guess at. While the hour was late, the night had not yet grown old, and those who lingered by warm fires in good company were not likely to abandon either in a hurry.

All too soon, however, the crooked lane came abruptly to a set of stone steps, which led up to a low-walled courtyard. The ground here had been beaten bare by generations of training exercises, and the bushes that clawed at the foundations of the meeting hall were thorny and mean. The annuals of neglect and decay that whispered of a war not long behind them clung desperately to the town, and perhaps as well to the people who lived their lives within its limits. Cain was about to find out.

As they'd entered the courtyard, DG had, by habit, let him in front of her; she followed him at a faithful two steps behind. Almost a familiar rhythm now, she lurched to a halt as he paused; he didn't turn around to face her, kept his eyes – and hands – forward as he addressed her.

"This isn't gonna take long. You up for it?"

"Yes." Neither eager nor nervous; her voice said enough that he didn't need steal a glimpse of her face. There was enough determination in her single, simple affirmation to tell him he need not worry about her. Not that knowing it ever stopped him.

A deep, steeling breath was all that he carried with him into that guild hall. The floorboards were soft under his feet; the stench of old ale overtook him. His first impression was not one of distaste, but a sharp and unexpected wave of nostalgia; it was longing that he'd not allowed himself to feel for time out of mind. The force it took to shove those memories away was like nausea pulling at his throat, his gut. It hurt, plain and simple.

There were fewer bodies here than he had guessed there would be, the number of men – and no women – lingering at about a half-dozen. The hall was wide open, crowded with tables set at haphazard angles, the walls lined with empty display cases without glass. A mammoth flagstone fireplace dominated the far wall, around which most of the patrons gathered. Some turned to see the strangers enter, most didn't take notice.

"Friendly," DG muttered, edging in beside him.

Cain looked down at her, of half a mind to reply when a holler from the other end of the long hall sounded.

"You the ones take the rooms at the Wellspring?" The man the voice belong to stood up from his chair, motioning for them to come closer to the fire. Cain touched the brim of his hat in thanks before moving forward, DG stepping haltingly behind.

"Just stopped over for the night," Cain said, taking a seat on an old, battered chair. DG, he was happy to see, crowded her own chair in behind him to hide in his shadow. Only the toes of her shoes showed in the firelight. "The rain made the decision for us."

"Keeps up like this," the man said, "you can expect the roads going north to be flooded. You headin' that direction?"

Cain paused for a moment, as if giving the matter a thinking over. "Truth be told, we'd been thinking about it. Central City, that is."

The man shook his head. "Central, now why would anyone want to be going there? Never understood what was inside them city walls that appealed to so many."

"Work," was Cain's reply.

"You'd be better off making the trek all the way up to Quick City, if it's just work you're looking for. Nothing in Central City but heartache and misery."

"It wasn't so bad before," Cain said, and he was surprised to find that he _meant_ it.

"When was the last time the bricks led you there, friend?"

"Been a good six months, at least." Even as the words passed his lips, he thought sharply of DG sitting behind him; if he tried his hardest, perhaps he could pretend that the way she shifted restlessly in her chair at his words had nothing to do with him, with her, with anything. It was a lie, and it wasn't a lie, a thin veil of truth stretched to breaking to cover all the darkness and uncertainty they'd managed to wrap themselves in.

What was one more lie.

"You've heard nothing?" the man asked.

Cain forced himself to smirk. "Heard plenty. Haven't had my hands on a copy of the Gazette for a good while, mind you. Wouldn't happen to have one of them kicking around, would you?"

Around the fire, the other men laughed, low and lazy. There'd been nothing close to decent news reporting in the Zone for almost a decade; even now, there was little the one and only publication out of Central City had done to pull itself out of the grave.

"The only news out of Central worth hearing is that Azkadellia's managed to sit her pretty ass back down on the throne," said a gruff old man, the closest to the fire. His cragged face was cast a harsh orange in the firelight. "Won't be long before the bitch is tearing it all apart again. Just give her time, you'll see."

"That's to say the only news worth hearing is news coming out of Central, and that ain't so," another said. "They're saying –"

A third man joined in. "Never mind what's been said, nor what's being said. I don't need to be hearing that bitch's name, queen or not, so shut your –"

Cain grit his teeth as the men around the fire fell into bickering amongst themselves. He glanced over his shoulder at DG, but her head was bowed, her face hidden from him. Sighing, he reached back and placed his hand on her knee, meaning for the touch to be light and quick, a comfort, but her hand slid over his and wrapped itself there, her cold fingers curling around to rest in his palm. And so he was anchored.

"So where's the real queen in all this?" Cain asked his increasingly disappointing sources. It was carefully worded, to be sure, and he didn't fail to notice how her fingers twitched against his hand as he said it.

"Holed up in her tower, like always," said the old man by the fire. "Holed up with that sweet little thing that should be queen in her place."

"You're starting to sound like Brett Thomas' boys," said one, his face turned away, "or are we finally learning where they've been getting it from?"

"Those boys have got some good notions in their heads, if they could rightly put 'em to use," the old man defended. "You watch the sky, mark my words; that sorcering whore hasn't finished with her tricks yet. All this sweetness is her greatest one yet, and it's headcases like you that fall for 'em, every time."

The barbs continued from one side to the other, the group of men seemingly forgetting about the stranger who'd started the trouble in the first place. One, however, was not so easily distracted: he who had greeted Cain was of a calm mind and quiet tongue, and as the heat of debate rose at the fireside, he left his seat in the fray and joined Cain on the periphery, turning his back on the others.

"You seem to have caused a ruckus, friend," he said.

Cain smirked. "I wouldn't hardly say that."

"The name's Amos." The gentleman extended his hand; Cain found his grip sure, relaxed. Friendly, almost; had they all fallen so far to be so surprised by overturned kindness?

"Wyatt."

"And the lady?"

"Emily," DG said in a weary voice, and she rested her head on Cain's back, between his shoulder blades. She didn't untangle her hand from his; in fact, she tightened her grasp.

"Been on the road awhile, then?" Amos asked, nodding toward the sleepy, hiding girl. Or perhaps, not so sleepy.

"Longer than expected. Still not anywhere we need to be."

"Never known the Old Road to lead a man anywhere he didn't need to go. That's why I tend to avoid it." Amos smiled, which had the curious effect of nearly setting Cain at ease, which, upon realisation, immediately unsettled him again. "So you're heading north, then?"

"North-east, maybe," Cain said. "Central ain't sounding too stable."

"Can't say myself if anywhere is too stable, even here, if you'll understand me." Amos glanced over his shoulder at the fireside group. A bark of laughter seemed to indicate the colloquy had progressed to more amicable territory.

"I do." In his hand, DG's fingertips pressed ever deeper into his palm, her touch growing warmer.

"I'll bet," Amos said with a laugh. "In fact, I'd bet you understand it more than me, or anyone else in this room."

"I'd hold off on the wagering," Cain replied. "Things aren't about to go changing any time soon."

"I don't know about that. Wind's been carrying all sorts of folks through this region lately, folks like yourselves."

"Folks who're watching for clouds on the horizon and steering themselves clear, then," Cain said with snort and a grimace. "Forget change, I'd like to see things stay quiet for a good long while."

Amos rubbed his chin. "Maybe you've got the right idea."

"No maybe about it," Cain said, and he shook his head, gazing hard down at the floor. "Listen, I appreciate you takin' the time to talk to us," he finished finally, after the answers he was seeking did not etch themselves into the floorboards as he'd willed. "Best be getting back if we want an early start."

He stood, and once more, all the eyes at the fireside fixated upon him; he wondered how he measured to these men, wondered if suspicion outweighed curiosity. Amos stood as well, and once again offered his hand.

"Well, sir, we'll see you down the road," Amos said, and then he looked square at DG as she got to her feet. He gave her a short bow of his head, and a fleeting wink. "My lady."

Cain wasted no time seizing up DG's hand and pulling her out of the guild hall and back into the rain.

* * *

Down the lane that led back into town, they'd made it halfway before she was digging in her heels and yanking her hand out of his grip. "Stop. We're still okay, aren't we? Even if – well, even if he _did_ know, he wouldn't say anything." And then she paused, worry thick in her throat as she asked, "Do you think –"

"I don't," he said, "but that's not what's got me thinking, and no, we aren't going to talk about it here." He looked up into the black of the night, no moons, no stars, nothing but emptiness and the steady fall of rain in his eyes.

"You won't talk about it when we get inside," she argued. "You've mastered avoiding the subject." He glanced down to see she'd defiantly crossed her arms over her chest, and looked about ready to make her stand right then and there, which would have suited him fine any other place, any other time but this – or, at least, that's what he tried to tell himself, that he _wanted_ to sort it out with her, wanted the truth, wanted the heaviness gone off his chest so he could sleep and breathe and exist in peace.

"You want to stand in the rain all night?" he asked.

"Avoidance. Why doesn't it surprise me." She reached up and ran her hands over her hair, finally taking down her hood as she did so. With her hands behind her neck, she upturned her face to the sky. Then, with a deep breath that heaved her shoulders, she put her head and hands down and marched past him, down the road toward town.

Without a word, he followed her, watching her close; there was no stiffness in her step, nothing measured or certain. It had always been his place to walk a step behind, to keep an eye on the road they'd walked, ever searching for the trouble that inevitably followed. Now, he felt aimless, without purpose, following her not because he trusted her lead, but because it was the only way he knew how to go forward – one step behind.

Cain didn't quite know how he was meant to make sense of what was happening around them; he didn't know how much longer he would be able to stay his tongue. It was becoming harder and harder to convince himself that her grief made her blind to all else, that her heart couldn't bear it all; more so now than ever, after listening to the strangers by the fireside, did he believe that she'd chosen to place responsibility aside. Or that she just didn't care.

"Princess," he said aloud, and she came to a grudging halt ahead of him. She didn't turn.

"I think you understand the concept of 'low-profile' less than I do," she said.

He put a hand on her shoulder, keeping himself at arm's length, enough of a gulf between them to remind him of what divided them. "Were you listening to what those men were saying back there?"

She hesitated, and then, "Yes."

"Good. Remember it, because it's something that you need to be thinkin' on."

She shuddered under his touch. "Why?"

"Because – " he began, but stopped himself short, cutting off words he knew he would regret. "Just because, all right?"

"Not good enough," she said, turning abruptly and forcing him to let go of her. He found himself quite suddenly the focus of her ire, and entirely unprepared for it. "You want me to think about how much they hate my sister?"

"DG –"

"Or how much more they'll hate her if Mother _dies_?" she demanded, her voice cracking. Her own words caused her to falter, and she sniffed, visibly shaken and running another nervous hand over her hair.

Cain sighed, still stumbling over what was on his mind to say, and what she needed to hear. Gods only knew she didn't need every doubt and gnawing fear that had been plaguing him since he'd walked out into his yard to be faced with pen-and-ink proof that the illusion of peace around them was about to shift and change.

"Or," she said, trying and failing to harden her voice, "do you want me to wonder why the hell they think I'd make a better queen than either of them. Or what some people would be willing to do to make it happen?"

She sounded so damn unsure, and outright frightened. He'd pushed, and now he knew what she was truly running from, why they were chasing this foolish chance to save her mother. She didn't want to let go of what was, what she'd strived to fix when she'd first arrived in the Outer Zone. She'd seen so much as broken then, and yet never weighed the possibility of something new growing out of the ashes.

"Why are you so scared?" he asked her, gently as he was able.

She gave a breathy laugh that ended on a near whimper. "Why aren't you?"

He lifted his hand, heavy with hesitation, to her face, cupping her jaw in his palm; so easy it was to sweep his thumb over her cheek to wipe away the droplets that clung to her skin, even as the sky continued to wash them both with clean early summer rain.

"I am," he said, focusing on the muted outlines of her features. He brushed his thumb against the corner of her mouth; ever so slightly, she turned her face into the touch, the sweet tilt of her head mere reflex, intuition of body that ran deeper into her than her young mind could hope to follow.

"Liar," she said, and again gave that breathless, insecure laugh.

"I wouldn't lie to you, darlin'."

The wrong thing to say. She turned her face away from him, slipping from his grasp.

"Fine, you don't lie," she said quietly, "only hide the truth."

Cain grit his teeth together, biting back a lashing response. The grudges of a youthful heart were hard to escape, harder to placate; forgiveness could not be won, nor earned. Only time assuaged those kinds of wounds, and he was stuck still trying to set it right.

"What do you want from me, DG?" His own heart would make this a harsh demand, but his words were whispered, no strength behind them.

She waited a moment, looking back up at him with eyes lost to shadow. He imagined nothing less than the full power of her sky blue gaze, and even that was enough to bend him.

"I want," she said, then paused again. She wrapped her fingers around the lapels of his duster, tugging on him. "I want too much. I'm sorry." She bowed her head then, still clinging to his duster as she pressed her forehead against his chest, hid herself in him, in the dark, in the rain.

She'd said that before to him, once, because he'd asked it of her, once. The night before he'd left Central City. She wanted _too much_, which wasn't really that much at all, because in the end, all she wanted was him.

And like a coward, he'd run, doing what he'd told himself he needed to do, for the ease of his mind, the mending of his heart, to claim what he'd lost.

What a hypocrite he'd become.

Sighing deeply, he fit his arms snug around her, holding her close on that lane in the middle of the night, far from where either of them called home, separated from everything that reminded them they were not the only two beings in the world. Greater things at stake couldn't pull her from his embrace, even as she trembled, even as the rain beat down.

He would let her run, if she felt she had to run, and perhaps, somewhere along the road, he'd be able to convince her the days of trying to escape her past could be, _would be_, over and done.


	23. Surrender

Author's Note: I thought I'd get one more in before the Rapture.

* * *

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

* * *

_When Last We Met: After taking refuge from the rain in the village of Ammenium, Cain and DG seek out the locals to find out what's been happening in the Zone while they've been on the road. Instead, it comes to Cain's attention just how important their quest is to DG. Now they're back on the road, heading ever south.  
_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Three: Surrender**

The princess was quickly becoming a distraction. No, that wasn't right. She'd long been a distraction, forever pulling his thoughts off course; even in his mind, she didn't like taking tried and true roads, she wanted to drag him into the grass. And while long days on the road lent themselves to mental frolics, the sense of permanence he was beginning to feel had already started its slow, guilt-ridden consumption of his conscience.

She was an unrealised catalyst, forever underestimating her own worth. The day it dawned on her – well, he just hoped he had due warning.

He began to understand her a little better as they went south, finally breaking out of their semi-aimless wandering. She had purpose, and with it she could move forward. The rest believed in her purpose, whatever their personal interpretation of it, and that allowed them to follow her. Without destination, without guidance, all would fall to doubt, plagued by questions, and eventually their small fellowship would break and cease to be.

She sought the guardian. No goddess to answer the prayer of a sorrowful heart, but a witch to whom DG would go on bended knee. Why the begging of a sky-eyed princess would sway a being so hardened that she'd abandoned those she was meant to protect, Cain still didn't understand and would undoubtedly never understand. However, that wouldn't really matter in the long run, would it? He was just the gun-arm, after all. It was his job to stand by the door while the others did the talking, and patiently wait for the situation to turn.

It always turned, eventually.

A day on the road meant Finaqua was behind them, the wilderness clinging to the land negating the option of cutting cross-country, and so they followed the solitary road that ambled its way south, ignoring every branching path that tempted them astray. Cain had never known a forest so thick and tangled; during their afternoon rest on the second day, he'd broken from the others to venture into the brush. It was a tight squeeze where the trees grew closest together; the ground was littered with jagged stones erupting from the earth. Thrust skyward sometimes as high as his knee, draped with moss, damp and fetid. In the deepest crevices between stones, snow and ice gave cold testimony that the suns did not reach this place.

He'd left it behind, and quick. No one asked why he'd returned so pale and shaken; Raw had eyed him with piquing interest, and DG had merely closed her sketchbook and suggested they get back on the road.

The road. It stretched out too long, too far, too crooked. Shattered pieces of brick marked the age of their road, the wood around them. Who had cut this path, he wondered, laid brick so old that only fragments of it remained.

One night only was spent in the forest; by the end of their second day out of Ammenium, they'd reached the open prairie, the foothills of the Ruby Mountains looming far closer than he'd expected. A few extra hours under the clear evening sky had brought them to the trees at the base of the hills, and it was here they made a dry camp in relative comfort.

Not much was said that night; too many faces were pointed at the sky, taking in the stars and the thin wisps of cloud moving as shadows across them. Cain had slept soundly that night, nestled so far from prying eyes, inquisitive minds, uncertain intentions. If anything in those long-forgotten wilds wished him harm, he'd find himself faced with it on no pretence.

He awoke that morning before the others. The stillness of the grey dawn assuaged him. One by one, his friends opened their eyes to birdsong, and for those few glorious seconds before their faces darkened with tasks yet incomplete, Cain could almost believe there was still some peace left in the world.

* * *

The third day out of Ammenium, uncountable days out of Central City, the road began its gradual, but persistent, incline. Surrounded by trees they were again, farther south than any one of them had ever been. Raw had never seemed more content, his face the only one among them graced with a smile; Glitch had been slowing them down some, constantly dismounting to gather one specimen of flora or another, pressing what he found inside the pages of the few books he'd smuggled into his saddlebag from the Wellspring. The map of the Qualdin Basin, which marked the road they travelled on now, was folded into quarters and tucked into his vest pocket; he referenced it so often, the creases were already becoming soft and pliable.

Toto hadn't shifted into a two-legged standing position since they'd left the village. He'd once again taken up his unfortunate habit of scouting ahead, his small paws kicking up dirt and dead leaves as he tore through the underbrush just off the road. However, Cain found it difficult to even summon the annoyance he felt to the surface. It eased his burden, to have another pair of eyes on the lookout.

It was to have been a four day stretch on this unnamed road beyond the reaches of Finaqua, with two already behind them, but with the clear weather they were making good time. He held no worries about the passage through the mountains, his mood much improved even with such a small reassurance as a destination. He was driving the others now, and he knew it, but with no complaints thus far, there was no harm in pushing a little more. Two more days, and the mountains would be at their backs.

Another day and night after that, they'd reach the high cliffs of the Bur'zaen Overlook, the southernmost point of the Outer Zone. A place that had never been much more than words printed on a map to him. To Glitch, it was a name of forgotten importance. To Raw, a growing concern. To the mutt, Gods only knew.

To DG, though... to her, it was a beacon. It was where she'd go to chase her hope, and her insecurities. It was the end of the road, and after that, come answers or none, there was nothing else.

Cain could see the determination set in her jaw as she rode; they all could, plain as day. There was curiosity in her eyes, ever seeking the next crest, riding ahead around every blind corner in the road, despite a warning hissed through his teeth at her every single time. More than driven now, more than focused, bordering on an obsession he knew all too well in his own heart, one that he refused to let blacken her insides.

Such were his thoughts, his delusion that he could influence her so.

The others, however, fared with better luck than he; for the most part, when she wasn't falling into sullen silence, she and Glitch conversed easily, speaking on everything under the suns, and then some. Cain had never seen the headcase more rapt with delight than when he was listening to her describe something – anything – from the world she'd left behind. Such was Glitch's enjoyment of her stories that Cain found himself frequently wondering if he even noticed the tinges of wistful melancholy haunting the edges of ever word she spoke.

It was a bitter disease, nostalgia, one he'd been known to battle himself. He'd struggled some days by that lazy creek back east to keep memory from swallowing him whole, to keep the shadows in his mind from reclaiming what little he'd gotten back.

Would he have to keep a closer watch on her? He didn't know, didn't like the thought of it at all. He'd leave her to her bits and pieces of longing. He'd want no less for himself.

* * *

"They say that on a really clear day, you can see the beginnings of Bur'zae," Glitch said. "The trees are so tall, they can be seen from across the sandsea."

"_They_ say," DG mused; the two were riding beside each other. "I've always wondered who _they_ are."

"Very wise, very important, very opinionated persons," Glitch said, chuckling.

From his position a good ten yards behind them, Cain rode on in silence, comforted by their easy way with each other. For his part, he didn't mind his solitude; Raw was far enough ahead that he kept popping in and out of view with every twist and dip in the road. Toto, Cain hadn't seen in a few hours, at least, and that was beginning to nag at him enough that he had to suppress an urge to whistle for the damn mutt every time it crossed his mind.

It was growing dark. The suns had already sunk below the trees, the sky stained yellow and orange. Before long, the stars would begin to blink themselves into existence, shining white and strong against the waning day.

"So then it's not what _they_ say, it's what _you_ say," DG teased, and Cain could hear the smile in her voice.

"I resent that remark!" Glitch feigned offence well enough to near convince Cain it was real. It wasn't until he added moments later, "I'm hardly important," that Cain snorted a disbelieving laugh, and drew their attention towards him.

"What about you, then," Glitch said, sniffing loudly. "What do _they_ say where you come from, Cain?"

Cain cleared his throat, keeping his mount's pace steady, the distance between himself and his companions never closing. "Nothing that I can recall."

"You've got no stories about where we're going?" DG asked.

"None," he said, and meant for that to be it.

The girl, of course, breezed right on past his broad reservations. "I'm a little disappointed."

"This is just Cain's way of admitting he slept through his schooling," Glitch said, trying once again to unseat Cain's calm. "Or maybe it's been so long that he just plain doesn't remember."

Cain smirked. "Either way, result's the same. Never had cause to learn about much so far from home. Someone used to tell me there was never a point lookin' beyond my own backyard."

"Would that someone happen to be a _they_?" Glitch pressed, still clearly under the impression that he was gaining the upper hand. The smug grin on his face, the brightness in his eyes, gave it all away.

"My mother," Cain said, and despite his self-assurance, he heard an edge in his own words, one that had a certain bite to it that ended the conversation. Glitch, the grin wiped away, only nodded, and muttered an, "Oh."

DG said nothing at all, but he thought he caught a glimpse of a real smile before she turned away and led her horse to catch up with Raw, far beyond where he could see her face, or hear her voice. Glitch, on the other hand, waited for Cain.

"I meant no offence," he said softly, easily.

"Don't start," Cain said, and waved him off. "I'm more concerned about where we spend the night."

"We should keep going until we come to a split in the road," Glitch said, and patted his vest pocket; a corner of the map stuck out like a parched yellow pocket square.

"We're losing light fast."

"Would you relax a little, Tin Man? It shouldn't be far."

Cain rolled his eyes, but said nothing, but it wasn't until the minutes began to slowly pass into an hour that he continued to bite his tongue. As the evening around them thickened, and the forest through which they travelled thinned, their small group tightened ranks, and Cain took the lead.

This part of the country hadn't seen the rain that had driven them to seek shelter in Ammenium; the road had grown dusty, and the grasses clumped on the wayside were brittle and dry. If they didn't come across water soon, they'd be going out of their way come morning to find it. The thought of delays – any, every – did nothing for Cain's mood.

Finally, more than an hour after Glitch's initial proclamation of _shouldn't be far_, the forest around them came to a sudden end, and they found themselves all at once under a deep, open sky dotted with weakest starlight. Before them stretched the ranges of the Ruby mountains, almost lost to them in the hazy blue twilight; black silhouettes dominating the horizon gave sobering insight to what yet lay ahead. Had they reached this vantage during the daylight hours, their eyes might have taken in a wide valley spread below, rocky but traversable, the road a crooked line disappearing into the distance. Above, the second path would be clear, winding its way up the high ridges overlooking the valley, the road cut along the top of the cliff, caught between impenetrable forest and an abrupt drop.

In the gloom, none of it could their eyes see, only the descending night.

"Well," Cain said, "which way."

"We go right," Glitch said quietly; the night was still, his voice carried. "We want to take the highroad."

"Why, where does the left road lead?" DG asked, standing in her saddle and craning her neck, as if it might help her see farther in the thickening dark.

"Down into the valley, where it ends," came the soft reply. "The map has a lake marked."

"Cliffs of Insanity it is then," DG muttered dejectedly. "Where are we going to stop for the night?"

"We'll find a place," Cain grunted, impatient to get everyone moving again. With hours yet until the moons rose, it was nigh impossible to think they'd just happen to stumble across a good spot to rest. Anywhere else in the Zone, he'd never consider making camp so close to a road, but this far south, days beyond the last refuge of the Realm of the Unwanted, he was just about willing to take the risk if it meant getting a bit of sleep for himself and the others.

One by one, the group dismounted and led their horses on foot; the steep path, from tree-line to cliff's edge, was no more than fifteen or twenty feet, and while he could no doubt trust his horse's sure footing, he felt better standing on his own. He kept them as close to the trees as possible without being whipped in the face every other step by spiteful spring branches. The others followed behind him, single file.

Night fell, and still they walked. After twenty minutes spent on the gradual climb, twisting and weaving where the road willed, the ground finally levelled. The winds picked up, cooling their bodies until they were all near shivering, exhausted from the hike up the ridge. At the top waited Toto, leaping and barking in a patronising way – that, at least, was how Cain figured it; never had he seen a dog as smug as the one yipping near his heels. However, Cain found himself slightly more grateful when Toto was able to lead them off the road, back into the woods; a small copse, clearing enough for them all.

Sensing that food and rest were now so tantalisingly close, the group fell into familiar routine. Glitch and Raw tended to the horses while Cain built a small fire, one that he planned on extinguishing before they went to sleep. While he worked, he listened to DG sigh and mutter over their supplies. He checked them over himself every morning; they'd be fine, though the girl's stomach no doubt disagreed with him.

Toto sat on a fallen log, presiding over the activity with his head cocked, his tongue hanging.

Darkness settled in for the night, and the remainder of their evening passed; they ate their fare cold, too eager to get it into their bellies to bother warming it by the fire. As was their habit, they kept to themselves, each minding their own. Glitch leaned back against a tree, whistling a low, slow tune; Raw sat near him, eyes closed as he listened. The mutt had settled down close to DG's feet near the fire and was passed out cold; she barely noticed him, flipping slowly through the pages of her sketchbook, studying them in the flickering light.

Cain watched the others from the shadows, his back to the chill that the darkness had brought. His mind was heavy, his thoughts far wandering from the watch he was meant to be minding. What threatened them here was far less than what they'd left behind, less even than the uncertainties they were marching toward.

There was nothing close to him that his thoughts did not touch down upon; his friends before him, his son somewhere about this vast country, Lavender lingering on in Central City, and both her daughters trying in their own vain ways to set things to rights again.

His musing, quiet and solitary as it was, soon outlasted his companions; first Toto, then Glitch, Raw, and DG in turn fell asleep. The soft, sad song, gone; so too the rustling of pages, the shuffling of feet. Only now the pop of the fire, the rush of sparks; the wind sighing through the boughs above their heads; his own steady heart.

Well past midnight, Cain stood, and walked toward the dying fire; he was about to stamp out the smouldering coals with his boot when her voice caused him to turn on her so fast , she scooted back a good few inches away from him. Sitting up in her bedroll, hand tangled in her hair, DG was eyeing him with bleary suspicion.

"What're you doing?"

Blood pumping, Cain near laughed out loud at his own excitability. "Not afraid of the dark, are you?"

"Can't you build it up again?" She sat up a little straighter, swiping the palm of her hand over her eyes, one at a time.

"Do you want me to?"

She shook her head mutely, lips pursed together. He watched her a moment before going back to his task, knowing that her eyes followed him in the coal glow until he'd kicked it out, and they were both thrown into black. It crossed his mind to hunker down, run a hand over her hair, smile though she couldn't see him, but such careless, misplaced thoughts were quickly cut off by the sharp, double edge of denial and doubt.

"Go back to sleep, kiddo," was all he could manage. Cain left her there beside the pit of cooling ashes and charred deadfall, going back to his own bedroll spread beneath a tree. It was one he'd chosen for its strange silver-stained bark, though little that choice mattered in the dead of night. He rested his back against it, tilted his head back to watch the sky, to catch glimpses of the moons through the branches and their new batch of summer green. Silently, he counted.

He'd made it past one hundred before he heard her moving carefully out of her warm cocoon; she was slow in coming toward him, each step measured and tested before executed, but not once did he hear her stumble, nor raise an undue amount of noise. She was learning, and for that he felt a certain amount of pride. Without speaking, he reached out and caught her hand in his own, to let her know just where he was. She settled down beside him, linking an arm through his and leaning her head against his shoulder.

"You shouldn't," he said, making no move to stop her.

"I know."

For a long while after that, she was quiet. What was running through her mind, he didn't dare venture a guess. There were too many words on the tip of his tongue for him to bother opening his mouth at all, so he accepted her silence, returned it, and waited.

She didn't disappoint. "Cain?"

"I thought we were past that," he said, gently as possible.

She turned her face into his sleeve. He swore he could hear her smiling. "Never." She took a deep breath, the tip of her nose still pressed into his duster. It was a long moment before she continued, her words muffled as she hid in him. "I don't know what's going to happen."

He smirked. "Never stopped you before."

"It should have."

"Listen," he said, then sighed. He pulled his arm from between them, and wrapped it around her waist to tug her closer. He'd had every intention of letting her go again, but once he was holding her, he found he didn't want to let her go so soon. In fact, his grip tightened at the very thought. "I told you before that we'd stop and go back if that was what you wanted."

She swallowed hard. "I know."

"But I think you're gonna see this through, Glinneth or no," he said firmly. "You're not one to get cold feet, and I'd be sorry to see you start now."

She sat up, bracing a hand against his chest. Even in the darkness, her smile was bright and obvious. "Are you actually encouraging me?"

"I might be."

Shamelessly, she stared at him; there was no wondering what she saw, if nothing more than the bridge of his nose, perhaps the outline of his jaw. The fingers of his free hand twitched to touch her face, to hold her as he had in the rain on that back road in Ammenium. He thought of her lips, how easy it would be to lean forward and pluck a kiss from her temperamental little mouth.

It hit him then just how much he wanted to. It was a jolt, that simple passing thought, enough to hitch his breath, stop his lungs for that one, vital moment.

Then, it passed. She sighed, settled back down against him, unaware of the shifting of mind and emotion within him. She gave a contented hum once all her squirming came to an end; why did the thought of her, comfortable against him, tear him apart so? The impossible weight inside of him refused to lessen, to let go. Trapped between the press of his conscience on every part of his being, and the sweet armful curled beside him, there was nothing for him but surrender.


	24. The End of the Road

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

* * *

_When Last We Met: The journey through the southern mountains has begun to test the resolve of the companions, growing ever closer to their destination, all of them keeping close to heart the reasons why they continue to walk their road._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Four: The End of the Road**

The Ruby Mountains of the south were one of four ranges that surrounded the O.Z. on all sides, leaving the landlocked nation virtually cut-off from the rest of the world. Centuries before, in times of greater peace, the remote passes through the mountains had been open and maintained for trade with those neighbouring countries willing to brave the crossing of the sandsea.

Historically, that was before the time of Gales. The first queen, DG's namesake, fairytales or no, had closed all the routes, eliminating foreign dependence almost overnight. Her successors strove for an self-sustained nation, and over the intervening century, until the beginning of the Emerald War, the Outer Zone's only contact with countries beyond the sandsea was her export of moritanium, channelled through the single port city of Qhoyre.

Cain had heard the city had been razed after the Fall of Central City, second only to Finaqua in the Sorceress' path of destruction. In a single, terrible night, she'd effectively eliminated the only link with world beyond her mountainous borders. It was said to have been a massacre.

All of this, Cain had only learned after the war, during the weeks he'd spent in the city before leaving for good – or at least, from the aftermath of breaking away from DG and the rest until the messenger had come a calling.

Their original route through the plains of Colibri was to have taken them close to the harbour in the extreme southeast, and he was glad to have avoided it. However, the farther south they went, the more he began to wonder if the road on which they travelled – nameless, ageless – was just a little too straight, and more than a little too easy.

Just what were they walking into?

Overlooking the rocky valley choked with scraggly brush, the road that ran along the ridge was conspicuously clear. The suns were warm, their light blinding, and the view provided to the east and south seemed to stretch on into forever, putting into harsh perspective how far yet they had to go. The road stayed at a steady, relatively low altitude, the day spent in the shade of the dense forest of fir and balsam poplar.

The smell of the dust hanging in the lazy afternoon, the sharp scent of leaves as the breeze caught them – Cain could honestly say he had the passing hope of walking on until the end of time, never reaching anywhere and never going back. He'd see DG gazing off into the distance – not south, no, but to the east – and he'd wonder just what continued to go on in that head of hers. He didn't like the quiet sighs, the emptiness of expression as her blue eyes took in the world that was supposed to have been hers, before she'd been sent away.

The mountains were beginning to wear on the determination that had carried her this far. It seemed every mile now worked against her, to weaken her resolve.

And he'd encouraged her to go on. The night before, his arm fit snug around her waist, her head nestled against his neck; she'd fallen asleep against him, and it was only when his watch had ended that he'd roused her by running his hand through her hair, and ushered her back to her own cold bedroll.

That night, he'd slept a dreamless sleep, and had woken to find that the guilt he'd become so accustomed to had abated – a bare sliver, but still something beyond what he'd ever thought to expect.

For the moment, it changed nothing. He knew, had always known, that he had no right to let this happen. When it became abundantly clear that DG was more imminent a danger than witches, insurgents, or anything else the Zone might have in mind to throw at him, he _knew_ that he couldn't, _wouldn't_, allow her to continue to lean on him, to burrow her way closer.

For all that day, that morning after, he fought against the part of himself that had been comforted simply by the nearness they'd experienced. He was human, after all, and loneliness had been his common companion during his self-imposed exile to the east. That was the way he'd wanted it, the way he'd planned it, no matter the steep price; he'd left her alone, even after she'd shown her hand just to convince him to stay, and all to inflict upon himself the solitude that had become the only way he'd known how to live.

She'd told him once that she'd been waiting for him to come back on his own. It seemed her patience knew no bounds.

As the hazy afternoon passed into cold, clear evening, and they stopped to rest their tired beasts and their own weary minds, she came to him again. It was near ritual now to wait for the others to fall asleep, to seek him out as he took the first watch. He was no longer surprised to find her settling down next to him, not after so many nights on the road, but still, he was wary of her presence. Never before had he been so critical of her ease with him, her careful way of seeking closeness, as if ever ready to spring away if things went wrong.

He wanted to anchor her against him, to show her she never need run, but she seemed content to link her arm with his once more, to brush her fingers over the back of his hand, to slowly entwine them with his once she was convinced he wouldn't snatch himself away.

"I miss her," she whispered quietly.

Cain had no reply.

His reticence didn't seem to affect her. "I don't want to draw her any more, it makes me miss her too much."

"Then what do you draw?" he asked, annoyed with his own curiosity. Every night, without fail, she sat down with her sketchbook to the dying light, and only the mutt was privileged with an occasional peek as he curled in the dirt beside her.

"I still draw her. My hand doesn't seem to want to stop. But –" And she stopped, sighed, tightened her grip on his fingers. Giving himself that one little inch, he'd squeezed her back. "– But in my mind, I see her getting better, and that's how it comes out on the paper."

"The heart wants what it wants," was his only offer.

"I wish she hadn't sent us to Finaqua."

"I know, darlin'."

"I should be there, no matter what she said. I'm not dangerous." Said with such conviction, the reflection of the firelight in her eyes gave an ominous effect. "I'm not."

"You don't need to convince me."

"Maybe I'm trying to convince myself," she said.

He frowned. "Now that I don't believe." She tried to pull her hand free, but he held fast. "You know well as anyone the difference between what you can do, and what you will do."

Sighing, she laid her cheek upon his shoulder, her attempt at escape already forgotten. She stared down at their tangled fingers; he watched her carefully. "I also know the difference between what I will – _would_ – do, and what I'd be willing to do."

Her words gave him pause. He waited for her to look up at him, to seek him out with those sky eyes, cast as golden as first sunrise in the firelight, but she only focused intently on her small hand wrapped in his.

"DG –"

"A danger," she said, a mere whisper. "Just as she was, careless with her power when she passed it to a little kid. If I'm willing to go all this way, dragging all of you along with me, to chase after stories..."

"You aren't draggin' us," he said firmly. "Glitch is pushing us, too. Mind you, none of us would even be out here if it weren't for the mutt."

"Don't call him that."

"So long as you stop your griping, it's a deal."

DG looked up at him sharply, her mouth screwed up in an unhappy line. He could see her working fast to come up with a fitting tongue-lashing for him, so he said what he needed to before she worked herself up into a righteous huff.

"You're doing what you think is right. Not a one of us can argue it."

She squirmed a bit, then said, "You tried."

Cain chuckled, unable to help it. "I did – and I lost. Get it through your head, kiddo, I'm no sore loser."

* * *

The next day, against everything his logical mind could come up with, Cain near doubled their pace. Now entering the fifth day out of the wayside village of Ammenium, he hoped the end was soon in sight. The map of the Qualdin Basin that Glitch had pocketed in the village was soon to be of little use to them. The broad expanse between the Ruby Mountains and the Bur'zaen Overlook was unmarked. Glitch's best estimation was grassland, perhaps open steppe. Gauging distance, it would take them less than a day to traverse it.

The thought of crossing out in the open didn't sit well with Cain, but even without having ever seen the ends of the O.Z. with his own eyes, he knew there would be no other option for them. Their best chance was to cross come nightfall, to come upon whatever waited for them in the clear light of the morning suns.

So, he pushed, and the others willingly went.

It was still early when their road, snaking along the top of the ridge, rose over the lake Glitch had mentioned the night they'd come to the crossroad. Cain had expected the pristine sights Finaqua had imparted upon him, but he was disappointed with murky, brackish water. The rocky basin it filled was stained a rusty red with the annuals of rising and lowering with the spring run-off. Even now, the swell of water rushing down the hillside opposite their road was white with force; he did not like to imagine what elements could discolour the depths, and had no interest in asking Glitch for his thoughts on the matter.

The suns were coming to the height of their arc when their road changed direction; the ridge continued to curve its way around the lake, the cliffs pockmarked with caves and chasms, but the path which they'd followed narrowed and turned once again into the thickest part of the forest that had encroached upon them these last few days. The trees closed in and the suns all but disappeared. DG said aloud that it almost felt like being swallowed; Cain didn't at all disagree, and it did nothing to improve the sense of foreboding that was rapidly beginning to grow in the back of his mind.

It was cool under the trees, and the stillness of the early afternoon hung with the lush verdancy of summer. Every now and again, it was possible to catch glimpses of blue sky through the boughs that reached far over the road, dappling them with sunslight. Somewhere deep in the trees, he could hear Toto barking.

It hadn't escaped Cain's notice that the old teacher had had little to say since Ammenium. In fact, he'd had nothing to say at all, as he'd not shifted back to a two-legged standing position since the morning they'd left the village. Problem was, there were words needing to be had. While it would be fine to speak them, as there was nothing wrong with the dog's ears, after all, Cain had questions he wanted answered before nightfall came, and he knew he would end up going out of his way to get them.

Hours later, however, opportunity still hadn't presented itself. It wasn't until the hottest part of the afternoon when he decided to force himself to act. The road went its way through a grassy meadow clinging to the banks of a wide, shallow creek. The bridge that spanned the water was in severe disrepair, the rotten planks broken and dangling down into the fast-moving flow.

"We'll stop here," he said.

DG, as expected, spoke up. "Can't we keep going until dark?" she asked. When he dismounted and turned to look at her, she was glancing up at the sky, perhaps attempting to judge the time by the suns. The sceptical line of her mouth proved to him she was having little luck.

"The horses need the rest," was his only response. "A few hours ain't gonna set us back by much."

"A few hours!" In her incredulity, there was more life in her than he'd seen in a handful of days, and he could almost say that it lightened the burden pressing on his chest – almost.

"We could all use a rest, DG," Glitch said, his feet hitting the ground moments later. He gave his mount an affectionate pat, smiling gently all the while. "I'll bet there's some silver-speck perch in that stream. We could try our hand at fishing. There's tackle in my –"

"That's a fine idea," Cain said, and fixed his eyes on the princess. Her frustration was clear as glass on her face, but to her credit, she managed to keep her tongue. When their eyes met, her face turned to pleading, but he only shook his head at her. "We got another thirty miles or less before we're out of the woods."

"Cross in the dark," Raw said. "Safer, no rushing."

"So I suggest you all take a rest, it's gonna be a long night," Cain said, nodding his gratitude at Raw's influence. He'd never known DG to outright disagree with the Viewer, whose calm advice was rare, but welcome, and this time was no exception. Instead, she resigned, her shoulders dropping and the anxiety going out of her, but he wasn't quite out of danger, himself.

"What about you? You don't need to sleep, Cain?"

"I'll catch a few when I get back."

"Back?" Her blue eyes narrowed at him. "Where are you going?"

"To scout ahead. I'd like to get a good look at where we're headed, before we start walkin' into it."

Glitch, ever the advocate of internal peace, spoke up. "DG, I don't think a member of the cartographer's guild has made it out this far since –" He stopped short, and shrugged. "It's up to you, doll, but my stomach says it wants a hot supper."

DG frowned. "Fine, but –"

Instantly, Glitch's face lit up, and off he went. "I'll get the lines!"

"Get these horses unsaddled," he said, giving DG a stern look. "They can take care of themselves until tonight."

"I want to go with you."

Cain smirked as she crossed her arms over her chest, the picture of firm defiance; he couldn't help but give her an appraising once-over glance. "Figured you just come right out and ask this time?"

"I don't need to ask," she said, sharper than he thought even she'd expected of herself, and he raised an eyebrow at her. A bit of bluster went out of her, and she blushed. "I kind of, maybe thought it couldn't hurt."

He cleared his throat, looking around quick before lowering his voice. "You're right on both counts, darlin', but you're staying here. Please."

"Why."

"Because I was serious, and I asked nice. You need the rest. We all do. Like it or not, this journey's almost done."

She paled, that flaring blush draining out of her cheeks. "There and _back_ _again._ Half done."

Of its own, his hand raised to touch her face, but he caught himself, hesitated. There were eyes on him then, not only her blues but the deep, knowing stares of the others, and he sighed. His hand clenched into a fist and dropped uselessly to his side.

"I'll be back before first sundown."

* * *

The road through the woods was a twisted one, winding back on itself again and again as it worked its way through the rocky outcroppings that dominated the hillside. For the most part, the slope was gentle and the decline gradual, but the farther he went, the more the road narrowed, the more the trees pressed in. But the road itself stayed clear, and soon the woods were brightening with the lazy setting of the twin suns; the world became a blaze of pink and gold around him, and it helped to ease his heart.

It was almost two hours later that he came to the vantage he'd been looking for. The road came down suddenly onto a small plateau where the trees were thinner, and through them, while the suns still provided him with their brilliant light, he could see a great distance spread out far below.

It was good to be on his feet, and he left his horse to wander as he stretched his legs and walked towards the steep edge of the plateau. A rocky slope separated him from the trees, straight-trunked and towering, below; the highest of their branches reached level with his knees, giving him an unobstructed view of the land beyond these foothills.

He could not make out the road through the densely crowded treetops; it was lost beneath the canopy of leaves and needled boughs. He could, however, make out the thin white line snaking out of the woods down below – the end of the road. The distance couldn't be more than fifteen miles, though there was no knowing the state of it in the between – the dips and bends that could take them any amount out of the way from the plateau, down through the thickly forested hills, until it reached the grey plain below.

Now, wasn't that sight something else.

Cain had never laid his eyes on such unbroken endlessness. The trees that covered the hills came to an abrupt end as the land levelled into a flat expanse of dry, empty prairie. The glare of the suns was relentless, everything below him parched and brittle, leached of life, nothing reflecting bright in the failing light. There was nothing to distract the eye from the slow climb to the horizon, a distant in-between where the grey of the plain faded into the hazy purple of twilight.

No beacons to follow; no road. No southern star to guide them.

He started at the rustling in the underbrush behind him, turning quickly, hand on his holster even though it was the moment he'd come out here to force in the first place. Even his mount raised her head from nosing through the growth at the side of the road to glance around; her dark eyes noting no concern, she went back to her burrowing. Cain relaxed, however minutely, and whistled.

He didn't have to wait long. The mutt came sprinting through the bushes with a speed and grace he'd never have attained on two legs. He skid to a stop less than five feet away, and stared up at Cain through intelligent dark eyes. Waiting, Cain expected.

He sighed. "Well, come on, boy, speak." A moment later, he was averting his eyes as the mutt's body contorted and stretched into that of a man, a weary one without a smile.

"Hello, Mr. Cain," he said dryly. "What a long way to go for privacy."

"Gone farther."

Tutor shook his head slowly. "What is it you want?"

Cain grimaced, turning his head away so the old man wouldn't see. "I want your word that you'll stop pushing her after this. Last resort, that's what you said back in Finaqua. I want your word you haven't been holding anything back on her. On us."

"I didn't know the word of a man like me was worth all this trouble to a man like you."

Cain glanced back over his shoulder. Tutor walked closer to him with his head down, hands ever in the pockets of his loose trousers. "Don't really matter. It's always worth the trouble if it gets me what I need."

"My word."

Cain nodded.

"I'd like to say I have some grand 'plan B' up my sleeve, sir, but I don't," Tutor said, staring out at the horizon. "Without Astor, our options were spent before we even had a chance. Without DG, we wouldn't even have this. So yes, you have my word, there is nothing more after this."

"That'll be seen tomorrow," Cain replied, relaxing a little. "Much as I hate to admit it, DG needs to see this through, even if there's nothin' to greet her but a dead end."

"You've finally accepted that, then?" A sharp, sidelong glance caught Tutor watching him with a rueful smile.

"A week ago, I wasn't convinced we'd make it this far," Cain said.

"And you made no point of hiding it."

Cain smirked. "I figured news of her mother would catch up with us, and we'd be heading back for a funeral. Not a mention of it anywhere, though, close to the grave as she was when we left."

"Closer still when I left," Tutor said. "Dreaming, never meant to wake. She must still just... dream on."

"DG says she sees her getting better," Cain said slowly. He wasn't about the jeopardise the girl's trust in him, but he'd known since she'd whispered her worries to him by the fire the night before that he needed answers instead of quiet fears, and she wasn't the one he'd get them from.

"Does she?" Tutor frowned. "That explains the drawings."

"You think Lavender could be on the mend?"

Tutor was silent for a good long while before answering, his words coming as slowly as the setting of the suns. "It shouldn't be possible," he said, but then he shrugged, shaking his head at himself. "I just don't know, Mr. Cain." He turned and walked away then, but Cain didn't move, didn't watch him go. He listened to the heavy steps of the old man that changed all at once to the padding of paws and the scrape and rustle of brush as he disappeared into the undergrowth.

_Shouldn't be possible._

Cain sighed, staring out at the far off horizon. He'd seen a whole mess of things in his life that shouldn't have been possible, and he'd heard about far more than he cared even think about. He had no grasp of the magical currents that flowed over the land, that changed and shaped at will, that bent and broke the laws of nature that he'd always held true. He was only a man. DG belonged to another world; Daughter of Light, they called her, called her mother.

It shouldn't have been possible that Lavender would single him out instead of one more loyal, more faithful; she might have chosen one more believing, but she didn't, she'd – well, perhaps his mind had played the whole thing out on its own.

He hadn't thought much on the dream he'd had the day they'd arrived in Finaqua, thinking to stay and destined to leave. Lavender's sudden and fleeting presence, her bleak words and heavy warning. DG can't go back, she'd said, or something like it, and he'd listened, however inadvertently. He'd kept DG away, out of the city walls, far from her family and the place she was beginning to consider home.

He let his head hang. He'd gone far beyond that, and he wondered if either one of them had the sense or the strength to put a stop to it before - well, just before.

Cain shook his head, brought himself back to the hillside and the waning daylight. He was beginning to feel a repetition to his thoughts that he would gladly rid himself of. He'd had enough endless loops to last him.

He needed to be getting back. He, too, had made some promises, after all.


	25. And Beyond

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

* * *

_When Last We Met: On the final night of their journey south, DG leads her friends into the empty plains that separate her from her destination, the southernmost tip of the Outer Zone, where she hopes to find the guardian, Glinneth. Cain, dreading most what will be found upon their arrival, barely takes a moment to consider the aftermath of what will come.  
_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Five: … And Beyond**

In the four hours that Cain had been gone, the others had been busy. After building a small fire, they'd fished a decent string of perch out of the creek, and had proceeded to clean and cook them. Upon his return, he found Glitch waiting up for him as the others slept nearby. Grinning ear-to-ear, the proud angler presented Cain with his supper, and while the unseasoned pure-white perch, kept warm by the fire, were undeniably good, his mouth had been stabbed by so many sharp, fine bones as to cause him to turn down a second helping. The hot food, coupled with the long ride, was enough to weight his eyelids, and he went to sleep near enough to DG that he'd be the first thing she saw when she awoke.

As he slept, he dreamed; of DG, of gingham checks that matched her eyes. Lavender, fine and sound, far-placed and forgotten. He was jolted awake by the girl's hand on his arm, real and solid, and a sympathetic frown. Time to go.

The suns had gone down. With only a few hours of decent light left, they hurried to get back on the road. Toto barked at them from the opposite bank as, one by one, they forded the shallow stream on horseback. Once again, they headed into the depths of the forest, leaving their quiet meadow refuge behind. He didn't look back; he wasn't so sure about the others.

Twilight was thick under the trees, and though it meant he'd forfeited sleep, he was glad they'd left early enough. While the road was clear of obstructions, but for the overhang of branches, the way became gradually steeper, and in the utter dark the road would have been downright treacherous. He set a fast pace and the others kept it well enough, following behind him single file, the mutt ignoring the protocol of the narrow path and running where he pleased.

An hour passed, and the light faded; another hour passed, and evening began to descend in a blue haze. Once the light had failed them altogether, he didn't hurry them; it wasn't much longer before the trees began to recede back away from the road, leaving the sky wide open above them.

Night was falling fast, the stars kindling before his eyes when finally, finally, the ground began to even, the trees thinned and then all too suddenly they found themselves coming out of the forest into a stretch of parkland. He imagined that in the brightest light of the afternoon suns, this place would've been a canvas of brilliant spring colours, but all his eyes could see was grey. Out of the shade of the trees, the night abated, albeit slightly, and they were given reprieve from the growing dark, long enough at least to gather their thoughts while they took a short rest. Dark would be full upon them again by the time they set back out.

"We need to bear east, a few degrees at most." He heard Glitch talking to DG. A quick glance showed them standing close together, and his arm was raised, fingers stretched out toward the starry sky. "The tip of the Wizard's Cane points to celestial south, do you see? So we'll know if we're heading too far east. By dawn we'll be able to see – well, whatever it is there is to see."

Cain frowned, but managed to mind his own tongue. A sudden drop and the sandsea churning beneath was all he could think to find when the world ran out beneath them.

"What's with the face?"

He snapped back to immediate focus. "What?"

DG was walking toward him, a half-smile quirking her lips into an odd shape. "You shouldn't be thinking so hard. My job, remember?"

"Tryin'."

She seemed satisfied with his answer, but her smile disappeared all the same. "What do you think we can expect?" she asked, staring out into the silhouetted darkness.

"Not much of anything," he said, his eyes caught up with the emptiness of the night beyond their tight knot. The stars offered reassurance, guidance, but their light was faint and it did little more than distinguish between the sky and earth. "At least, not much more than you're seeing right now. We'll pick up the pace once the moons rise."

"How long, do you –"

He stopped her; he wasn't about to bind himself to estimations. "I don't know, darlin'."

Put out now, she said, "So we get there when we get there. Just great." He was certain that if her face were suddenly cast with light, he'd see a pout fit for a princess. For one fleeting moment, he was given a glimpse of the fiery, brazen nature she tried so hard to shut away, hidden behind her well-worn mask of passive detachment. She'd loosed that temper on him that night in Ammenium, a lashing fury brought out by the consuming force of her despair. Running from the resistance, running from the shadows of her guilt. He'd held her, soaked and shaking, unwilling yet to give her what she was unwilling to ask for.

Past now, not forgotten. Ignored, or perhaps just overlooked. She didn't need his arms now; her own two feet would serve her, at least for a little while. There was pride enough for her in him to drown out the echoes of regret.

She wandered away when it became apparent that she wasn't going to get a rise out of him. All the words he hadn't said felt heavy and bitter on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them back best as he was able. He didn't begrudge her this closeness she desired from him, the presence of his voice and body and breath. She sought out the others in turn, seemingly just the same. No, not just the same, and he sensed, down to his very core, that he wasn't the only one who knew the difference. He only had to glance up and catch their eyes as they darted away to know that his companions could see, plain as day, the difference. If DG was aware, she made no move, gave no word. For her sake, he hoped her oblivious to the weight of those sad, sombre stares.

In the end, however much he wished it, he wasn't. When they mounted again, Toto bounding ahead and DG following the furrow he'd made in the tall grass, Glitch managed to hang back. It was too dark to read his eyes, but the frown on his lips was clear.

"Cain –"

He wasn't in the mood. "If it's all the same, I'd rather not."

"You can't avoid this forever."

"I can with you."

Glitch's teeth sunk into his bottom lip, a flash of white in the night. "You know, Cain –"

"No," he said gruffly, meaning for that to be the end of it. "I don't know. Now, if you'd kindly." And with that, he put his heels to his horse and headed off to catch up with the others.

* * *

The moons rose up out of the northeast over the mountains, one, then two, lesser reflections of the twins that ruled the day; their wan light chased the deepest of the shadows, gave shape to the plains that spread out endlessly to the south. And for what purpose? Grass, that was all he saw, all there was to see. Every blade captured that poor, pale light, tossing it on ahead until everything before him seemed awash with glimmering white, a vast, moving sea through which they waded.

The wind seemed a living thing out here, and it unnerved Cain more than he cared ever admit; he took no comfort in it. There were no great gusts to rush through the grasses, no deafening blusters to overpower his thoughts. Whispers across the plain, that's what he heard, hinting all the while at deeds left unfinished, a future not yet written. The wind knew of their coming, it seemed, and presented them with no reassurances. They would find their own way, the wind would not lead them.

As the miles melted away, so too did any talk – soon, there wasn't a word from any of his companions. Even Glitch had fallen silent, and it wasn't hard for Cain to guess what kept him so quiet. His heart was growing heavier with every mile, just as DG's was, and no small wonder, even to Cain, that the man had been able to keep his spirits up for so long. There were no smiles now, no wayside knowledge, no jests or laughter.

Truly, it was a desolate place.

Hour upon hour, they followed the stars south. The moons, set upon their predestined path, made certain the way was lit for the girl, as if doomed and duty-bound to help her along the way as they'd never done for her before. How many moonless nights had passed them by since leaving Finaqua? How many more would follow on the long road home?

As often as he dared, he stopped them to rest, thinking less on the horses and more on killing the hours that stood between him and the dawn. When a glint in the distance marked a small, stagnant pond, he broke the straight line they'd travelled thus far to make for it. The water was flat, almost warm, but if it was good enough for the horses, it was good enough for him, and he bid the others fill their canteens. DG grumbled about stopping _again_ but her mutterings did not raise in volume for all the unhappiness he could read upon her face by moonlight.

He did his best not to smile. She noticed.

"How long until morning?" she asked, and he knew full well she'd bitten back more than a few choice words before settling on what she said.

"A few hours yet."

DG looked out toward the distant horizon. If she'd been expecting it to change because of sudden interest, she'd be sorely disappointed. She didn't bother to hide her frown.

"We'll get there, darlin'."

She sighed, but the sound was lost as a great gust of warm summer wind flattened the grass around them. It picked up her hair, tossing it about her face so that she was forced to reach up and brush it out of her eyes. Didn't she notice that the entire plain had sighed with her, felt her frustration and despair, called out to her? No, she was too focused on her destination, not how she was meant to get there, and –

And he was thinking far too hard on it. He shook his head.

"Hey, Wyatt?"

"Yeah." He didn't look at her, but left his eyes on that dark horizon. The wind didn't pick up again, just played about them, rustling through the grass like the ghosts of the long dead.

"Thank you."

So simple, so honest. His head shot up, his eyes meeting with hers.

"I haven't –"

The smile she gave him was sad as she held up a hand to cut him off. He took a better look at her, reminding himself how old her eyes could seem when she grew thoughtful like this, when her words and hands held more wisdom than should be right for a girl of her age. Sometimes, it didn't seem right to call her a girl at all.

"Yes, you have. Don't pretend, okay?"

Stiffly, he nodded. She left him bewildered, seeking out the others as she always did after cornering him with some truth he hadn't thought she'd ever have the nerve to voice. They were her shield, as much as that curious impassivity she wore as a cloak day in and day out. He wouldn't have minded so much if she'd stop turning his thoughts around on him.

_Thank you, _she'd said. _Yes, you have, _she'd said.

Damn him.

_Don't pretend._

Damn him to the deepest circle of –

He got them moving again then, pressing them harder than he had all night. There was nothing for it, really, as they headed to the end of their road and beyond; together, they scrabbled for purchase on a slope too steep, knowing the drop inevitable, dreading the fall, frightened of the unknown that spread out below, reaching up to embrace them. Cling to each other or fall alone, there was no changing what was to come. Behind him, before him, the empty prairie reached on into forever with a certainty that men could never hope to find. The land knew, and it knew well.

Mile upon mile. Star after star. But this place was not eternal, and time did not stand still. He could feel his exhaustion creeping up the back of his neck, seeping into his bones even as the first white light appeared on the horizon, far to the east. A streak of light, the coming of the dawn. He noticed it long before the others, long before DG said, "It's almost morning."

_Morning's been sneaking up on you, darlin',_ he thought with dismay. No one reined their horses to get a better look at the paleness of dawn burning beyond the darkness. The light followed them as the world grew to grey, and in the brightening, he caught the first glimpse of the silhouette in the distant south, while all the others kept their eyes on the light in the east.

"Isn't it beautiful?" he heard DG say.

His eyes weren't on the thin, shining streak of dawn. He wondered how long it would take the others to notice the odd shadows marring the perfect line between earth and sky to the south. Nothing more than an inconsistency on the horizon for now, to be sure, but the heaviness that settled down in his chest left no room for doubt. Their destination was drawing near, so close now as to be within his sight.

And for the first time since leaving Finaqua – no, for the first time since the night in the tower, the night the war ended amid the smoke and blasts and sheer panic, for the first time, Wyatt Cain could say he was well and truly afraid of what was to come.

* * *

_Author's Note: I am sorry for the delay in updating, but it's my pleasure to announce I was attending the wedding of my sister to her fiancee, in an epic event of love, friends, and family that has since been dubbed "Two girls, one cake". I love my country. Come on, America, you can do it. _


	26. Shatter Stone

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

* * *

_When Last We Met: After weeks of wander and wonder, the group finally stumbles upon a palace gone to ruin at the southernmost tip of the Outer Zone. Here, DG still holds out hope that she will find a way to save her mother, and Cain only hopes he can hold them all together before the end._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Six: Shatter Stone**

Once upon a time – now, how did that go again? Something about a girl, and something about an evil witch. Fairytales, long ago left behind. Cain had only barest memories of the stories spun for him and his baby sister, too many annuals past when he knew not who he would grow up to be, nor how hard and dangerous the road was yet to become for him. He was safe when those tales had reached his ears. Now, trying to remember it all, it did nothing but make him homesick for a place that no longer existed, made him yearn for people he'd never see again.

Adora had told these children's stories to their son. She'd told it differently. The shoes had been red, the ending prettier, all tied up in a neat little bow. She'd always favoured the happy endings. Would that she'd been so favoured.

Lies, all of it. Myth and history. History is written by the victors. History and myth. Myths are written by the children of the children of those who remember the last living memory. Lies, all of it.

South he'd come, surrounded by those who had claimed him needed, wanted. South, chased by shadows of insurgence, to keep the tenuous peace, to shelter DG from those who might use her to further their cause. A negligible threat, no true lie, but a few grains of truth spread thin to cover the fears of a dying woman. Did Lavender dream, safe and secure, under her threadbare delusions?

As the shadow looming on their horizon grew ever closer, ever larger, he had to wonder if he'd done the right thing.

There was no doubting the resolve of the others, not once their eyes made out the jagged silhouette on the horizon, a bleeding scar at the edge of the world. The suns rose to their left, the stars washed out by the greater light. Their nightly guides disappeared one by one, not even the brightest a match for the far-reaching rays of dawn. No matter, the way was clear to them now; as he watched the ruins seem to grow out of the ground, he knew there was no turning away. For DG, he knew she'd never considered it, though the nagging doubt had plagued her, she had never once faltered, not truly. For himself, well... no reason to start questioning it now.

Slowly, both suns climbed the cloudless sky. Cain watched as the colours of the plain made themselves known to him; his imagination had had it all wrong. There were no wildflowers, no blossoming spring. The monotony of the flat, dull green sea spreading out around him, barely distinguishable from the grey pallor of pre-dawn. Though he could sense the eagerness of the others – DG and Glitch especially – he didn't push their pace. He knew deep inside there was no hurrying. An hour wouldn't make a difference, not now, not so close.

Only a half-mile off, he stopped them. DG was pale as he'd ever seen her, Glitch worrying at his bottom lip so much that it'd turned red; Raw seemed uncomfortable, and Toto was nowhere to be seen, though the wind carried the sound of his barks right to them, ever scouting ahead.

The ground was on a downward slope so gentle it was barely noticeable, but it gave them a decent view of where they were heading toward. Through the past fortnight, he'd wanted to expect nothing but empty plain, and the fabled drop to the restless sands below, but as the days had come up short and the inevitable was suddenly staring him down, he'd known it was a fool's hope. When the first shadow of structure had appeared on the horizon, uncharted, almost a week past the last outpost of the Realm of the Unwanted, something in him had not bothered even feign surprise.

Perhaps in its beauty, it might have been comparable to the majesty of Finaqua, but this was an unkind land, and even from their distance, the crumble and collapse was visible. A great, ruinous palace nested within a walled courtyard, set alone against an empty, pale pink sky, there at the ends of the O.Z. Smaller than the lake palace, with no hint of colour but for what the sunsrise offered. A breached perimeter wall, a northeast corner giving way. What was left to greet him, he held no real expectation. A shell of greatness, turning to dust.

"Now's not the time to be losin' sight of things," he warned his companions. Not a one of them looked at him. Their eyes were drawn to those white walls made orange by the suns. He found he couldn't bear to look at them for cowardice – or perhaps that was just letting himself off easy. What plagued him, he couldn't rightly say. Eager to deflect his thoughts from himself, he looked DG square in the eye. "No running off now."

DG's eyebrows raised ever so slightly. _Who, me?_

He grit his teeth, and turned away from her innocent little smile. Even now, she tried him. He supposed he ought take that as a good thing.

It wasn't so very much later that they were riding again, the decline making the going all the easier. Behind them, the silvery trail of trampled grass showed just how straight their way had been. By that path they'd made, they would return. How soon, he didn't know, and that troubled him most of all.

It was on this final stretch that Cain got his first good look at the deteriorating husk of a once great palace. It was no fortress, no stronghold. The outer walls measured twelve-feet high by his best estimation, covered in tangled masses of flowering ivy. The single entry point – as far as he could see – was a great archway. There was no gate that could be seen, only that open, inviting arch. He swallowed back his common sense, and his pride, and made straight for it. They'd come this far. No use tiptoeing around the obvious.

Closer still, he could see into the courtyard, though there wasn't much to tell of. A collapsed fountain, rotting wood, and the same explosive overgrowth of flora that climbed the outer walls. Finally, a stone's throw away, he pulled to a stop and dismounted once again. The others were slow in following suit, all eyes soaking in the sight before them, a palace smaller than Finaqua, so fragile it seemed a good wind would topple her off the cliff to the restless sands below.

Just beyond the arch, they took care of their horses. Cain just didn't feel right taking them into that courtyard. With no place to tether them, the only option left to them was to let them wander and graze. He didn't unburden them, though the poor beasts deserved the respite. He had no worry they'd go too far.

The damage was worse up close; the greyish-white plaster was crumbling from the walls, showing red wounds of bare brick underneath. Everywhere, sections of wall had cracked and fallen, the ground littered with chips of mortar and fragments of weathered brick.

This place was dead, forgotten by men; only the suns and wind remembered, and only in their relentless pursuit to return each beam and brick to the earth. Ashes and dust. Gods, for DG's sake he hoped there was someone, _something_ here, even if in the end the answer was not what she'd been seeking, thank you kindly all the same.

As if reading his thoughts, which he wasn't wholly certain was beyond her realm of ability, DG spoke up. "I don't want to go in there alone."

"We won't let you," Glitch reassured her – at least, that seemed to be his intent, but in the next moment, he was the one looking for reassurance. "Right, Cain?"

Cain bit back a growl, and was slow to answer. "We've come this far, I don't see what another few feet is gonna hurt."

The small amount of relief in DG's eyes was enough to reinforce the decision, and he glanced at each of his companions in turn. He wanted nothing more than to turn tail and get them all out of there, Lavender and the Zone be damned. Only, however much it pained him to admit, none would follow him. Their purpose was here, and that was the cold, dark reality of his heart.

He looked last at DG, and she offered him some semblance of a smile. He nodded at her, the barest decline of his chin, but it was enough for her. Truer became her smile, and then she turned away from him, and walked through the archway into the shattered courtyard. Raw followed first, and then Glitch. The damn mutt came tearing out of the long grass and raced after them. With a sigh, Cain reached down to his side and unbuttoned his holster – and then followed them within.

In the shadows of early morning, the courtyard was cold. It would be hours yet before the suns peeked over the high walls to warm the stones under his feet. Once, the paved yard might have been a sight to behold, the stones running outward from the central fountain in an array of greys, pinks, and blues. Now, there was no order, no meaning, just a jumble of broken slabs, overturned and half-covered in spiny, colourless lichen. The fountain was cracked, it's carved figures tumbled into the basin, features as crumbled as the rest of this gods-forsaken place. The water had long since drained away, leaving behind nothing but snarls of decaying reeds.

Beyond the fountain, the great house itself loomed, a pale reminder of a different time. There was no whimsy here, no prosperity. The two pillars that flanked the massive doors were cylindrical and draped in more choking ivy. The doors were naked wood, stained a deep red from the paint that had long since flaked away, heavy wrought-iron handles going to rust. The high windows overlooking the courtyard were all empty of glass, long rectangles of gaping darkness.

Once the eerie lull had passed, DG and Glitch broke off from the group to explore the courtyard. The air was so still that Cain could hear the brittle grass between paving stones crackle beneath the weight of their steps. DG went straight for the fountain, hands on the edge of the basin to lean in and examine the fragmented statue at the centre. Glitch wandered to a section of the crumbling wall, hunkered down and picked something up out of the rubble. He dusted it off, blew on it, then smiled. This he did twice more, and never once did Cain get a good look at whatever debris was so fascinating before it was pocketed away.

"It must have been so pretty here," DG said in a slow, sad voice.

"Still is," Raw said, lifting his face to the expanse of sky gradually fading to pale blue.

Cain looked up as well, but his gaze lingered on the great house; it filled his mind and his focus. The windows on ground level were shuttered and barred; there were deep cracks in the planks that had weathered silver over the annuals. The door looked solid, and he didn't fancy the idea of breaking it down – but then it occurred to him that doors had a way of opening themselves for the girl, and he put the worry out of his head.

"What do you think?" he asked her. From the beginning of this entire mess, Tutor had always proclaimed that DG would lead the way as she had on her search for the emerald, that she had a certain knowing of the world in a way that none of them would ever understand. But now, it didn't seem DG had the slightest idea what she was doing or what she expected to happen. When she shrugged her shoulders, the tension in her was clear.

"Should we knock?" Glitch asked, joining her at the fountain, where she seemed skittish to make a decision.

"No," DG said. "Or, maybe. I don't know. I'm kind of beyond being polite at this point."

Cain watched her carefully. "But are you prepared if you end up causin' some trouble?"

She took a deep breath, and nodded. "Yeah, I am." And with no further compunction, she marched toward the door. Toto chased after her, jumping up at the door and scratching furiously at the wood even before she had touched upon the rusted handle. Cain could hear the scrape of the metal even from across the courtyard, the sound grating through him right to his bones. It sent his blood to quickening, and his feet followed as she pushed the door open and stood on the threshold, staring into the gloom within. Even the dog hesitated at her feet, whimpering.

DG closed her eyes, and again took a breath that shook her. "I really hope this wasn't about payback, Az." She stepped through the doorway.

Cain was last to follow her through. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, the murky shadows that filled the corners began to dissipate, and he found he was standing in a ruined, circular hall. The others were already spreading out, their feet leaving streaks in the layered drifts of silt on the floor. Along the south wall, five tall windows tipped with pointed arches faced out to the sandsea. Time out of mind, this place had been exposed to the elements, filled with the odour of age and decay.

"_Hello!" _

DG's voice bounced off the high, vaulted ceiling. The echo sent his eyes upward, landing on the stone balcony that circled the entire upper level of the hall, following through the haze of stirred dust and weak light to the curved staircases that flanked the row of arched windows at the far end.

"Kiddo, I don't think you need to shout." Though truth be told, he'd prefer anything to the silence that fell once the chorus of voices had died away. Too still, much too still in this untouched place for his liking.

"It doesn't look like there's anyone to hear us, Cain," Glitch said, his eyes on the floor. Casually, he swept a foot across the sand that carpeted the floor. Underneath, the glossy mosaic tiles refracted even the faint light, gleaming pure white and blood red. The sense of the layout was lost beneath the grit. "It's hard to tell," his headcased friend continued, "but I think this architecture is pre-Pastorian."

DG, kneeling down, gave the floor a swipe with her hand, showing more crimson tiles. "And that means what?"

"It means I don't think I can tell you how old this place is. There are no records that pre-date the Pastorian dynasty."

There was a ghost of a smile on DG's lips as she stood, brushing her hands against her already dirty slacks. "Then I guess we really are in the right place."

Raw, coming forward from the door only mere inches, nodded. Cain was the only one who noticed. "You always know the way."

DG turned around, surprised the Viewer had spoken. Her smile was shy. "I guess I do." She glanced up and around, but Cain had to wonder what she was actually seeing. Did she just see the balcony, or did she see the crumbling columns barely supporting it? Did she see the debris on the floor, or just the tile underneath? He wondered if rekindled hope coloured her perspective – and if he was any better off with his bleak, grey outlook.

When her gaze finally settled on him, she found him watching her. There was nothing but resolution on her face, and that eased his mind, and he was too glad for it to be annoyed with himself just then.

"I guess we should look around," she said. "We stick together."

Glitch gave a nervous chuckle, the closest thing to a real laugh Cain had heard in too long. "Sounds like a plan."

Together, they walked the length of the hall, uncovering more of the tiles beneath their feet as they went. He could almost swear that Glitch and DG were dragging their feet on purpose, just to see more glimpses of red and white. The tall lancet windows gave a view of nothing but blue sky. DG chose the staircase to the left, and as they climbed to the balcony, they could see out of the windows the true endlessness of the sandsea. As clear as the morning was, there was no shadow on the distant horizon. There was a world beyond the O.Z. but even Bur'zae was too far for the naked eye to see. So much for what they say.

The balcony was mostly clear of the grit below; the scrape of sand beneath him was replaced by the familiar, gentle press of his boots on smooth stone. His heartache for Central City overwhelmed him. He'd never thought to miss that city of broken dreams, let alone so much. It near stopped him in his tracks. Only Raw gave a curious glance in his directions, the others blissfully distracted. He reminded himself he had a home to get back to, somewhere far from the cobblestone streets of Central, but for the first time, he found his heart just wasn't convinced.

_Damn me,_ he thought with an upward glance, _damn me before I damn myself._

Without remorse, he immersed himself in the task at hand. It was the only way.

There were no halls, only a series of marble archways that led into rooms sectioned off by walls of iron latticework. Slowly, they worked their way around the circular balcony toward the north wall, where four floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the courtyard, two near the east corner and two near the west. The large expanse of wall between was mottled with decay, visible even at the opposite end of the hall.

For his part, Cain did little more than peek into each room; he waited on the balcony while the others explored. What he saw did not impress him, instead only reinforcing the feeling in his gut that they were wasting their time. Each room was empty of furniture, the floors coated with mouldering plaster and centuries worth of dust and sand. In more than one room, the roof had collapsed, littering the floor with broken clay roof tiles; splintered beams leaned at drunken angles against the walls. These rooms along the east wall were caught in the radiance of the morning suns, light spilling in the narrow, glassless windows. Even on the balcony, out in the vast hall, the light was growing brighter, but it still did nothing to cast off the dismal pallor of the place.

Eventually, the balcony curved around to the front of the great house where there were no rooms, only an empty wall framed to left and right with windows. That spark in DG's eyes had begun to dim, though her face piqued with interest as they approached the north wall. As with the rest of the walls, the plaster was grey with annuals of grime, but soon his eyes began to make out veins of discolouration underneath the thick dust. What had, from afar, seemed only to be mould damage, was in fact –

"There's a fresco under here," DG said, her hand hesitating a mere inch away from touching the wall. Her fingertips twitched. Her eyes travelled up to the ceiling, and she slowly backed up to the balustrade; Cain was relieved she had the common sense not to put her weight on it.

"A what?" he asked, looking up at the wall, though he figured he knew.

"It's a mural, painted on plaster, like this," she said, nodding toward the wall. "There's so much gunk on this wall, it's almost impossible to tell it's there."

"No one touch it," Glitch said, though Cain didn't see how any one of them would've had that thought; maybe Glitch was really reminding himself. "Even the slightest pressure could cause it to flake." He reversed until he was standing next to DG; when his backside touched the rail, he jumped a little, just an inch of so away. "It's amazingly well-preserved, isn't it?" he said, giving DG a conferring look. "The rest of this place is falling apart."

DG tore her eyes away, shaking her head. To Cain, it was almost as if she were berating herself for becoming distracted. Surely enough –

"We need to check the rest of this place. Now." She marched off, and he was first behind her.

West mirrored east. A long row of arches, empty rooms, walls of rusted iron lattice. These rooms were dark, or rather, darker than those on the opposite side favoured by the morning suns. Cooler, too, though maybe the shiver that was working its way up his spine had more to do with the inevitability he could see barrelling towards them, like a black beast of a steam train and they were all caught on the tracks. Past the point of running. At the end of the world.

Cain sighed to himself, emptying his lungs of breath before he drew another. His calm came slow, but it did come. His eyes went down over the balcony, homing in on the mutt as he nosed his way around below. The sight cinched his throat and he forced himself to look elsewhere; he'd do his best to help DG and Glitch face their reality when this was all said and done, but if the old man thought he was getting out of this without getting his hands dirty – by way of not having any, as it were –

"There's no one here."

Cain was jolted out of his thoughts not by the words, but by the break in her voice, that waver of abject disappointment. He looked up to see she'd passed him, gone on to the rooms closest to the end of the hall, where the twenty-foot-high arched windows gave him more than enough light to see clear into her eyes and know her heart wasn't breaking just yet. She might see, but she didn't believe. It would come. For that moment, all he could do was concede with a nod. She was right. The place was empty.

* * *

_Author's Note: Hang in there. You guys are awesome. Such patience ought be rewarded. *hearts*  
_


	27. The Difference of Staying

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

* * *

_When Last We Met: The search for a legendary guardian, the witch Glinneth, has led the group of five weary travellers to a ruin on the cliffs of the sandsea, the southernmost point of the Outer Zone. However, the empty halls hold nothing to give DG hope of helping her mother, and their time is running short._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Seven: The Difference of Staying**

"Cain, come see this."

It was mid-afternoon, and the day had gotten hot. For the moment, better or worse, they'd dug their heels in. Wyatt had sent DG and Raw out to tend the animals. He'd needed something to distract her before she worked herself into a tizzy. If Raw could manage to help her calm herself, things could only be that much easier. With her busy elsewhere, Cain searched the palace over once more, finding nothing but tile and timber and dust. Disappointed and angry, he'd found an accommodating stretch of wall to lean against and reset his own disturbed calm while Glitch took his turn exploring.

"Cain, you really should see this."

He barely stirred. He'd long since abandoned his hat and duster, he'd rolled up his shirtsleeves but still he could feel the sweat trickling down his back and brow. The day before, bereft of sleep, and the long night in the saddle had caught up with him. The dry, skin-searing heat had only furthered it along.

Glitch, like himself, was still keyed up and agitated. "Cain, you're going to want to –"

"See this," Cain finished for him, parched throat giving him an unpleasant croak. He pushed himself away from the wall, his boots a mite heavier than they'd been before, he was almost certain. "We've been over this place top to bottom, there isn't a damn thing you can –"

Shooting Cain a disapproving glare, Glitch refused to enter the petty argument; his clothes were in a similar state of disarray, and the heat had done nothing to improve his disposition. "Look," his friend said pointedly, and swept a hand out over the balcony.

Rolling his eyes, Cain glanced down into the hall below. He saw nothing that he hadn't seen thrice already. "Don't waste my time, Glitch," he said. "I was down there earlier, I don't –"

"Exactly! _Look_!"

So he did – and then he blinked his eyes hard as he could and looked again. His initial assessment had been right, there was nothing amiss. In fact, nothing had been displaced; the floor was covered by a smooth layer of pale sand just as it had been the moment DG had opened the front doors. There was no indication whatsoever that the group had been treading over the floor for the past hours, not a single footprint – or pawprint.

He really needed to get a few hours of sleep. "Now, tell me how that's right," he said, narrowing his gaze as if it'd make a difference.

"It's not."

"We kicked up a mess on that floor."

"We did."

Cain sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. He squeezed his eyes shut. "You got an explanation for me, zipperhead, or did you just point it out for the hell of it."

"I would have thought it was obvious," Glitch said, and when Cain opened his eyes again, he was met with a very smug grin.

"You're saying magic."

"Magic. But you said it." The grin widened. It was infuriating, and perhaps Cain would have had some scathing remark ready for his friend if the gears in his own brain weren't already turning in another direction.

"DG's gonna need to see this. The mutt, too."

"He has a name, you know. It's Will," Glitch said as he picked up his vest from where he'd slung it over the balustrade. "How would you like it if we kept referring to you as Tin Man or that grouchy bastard?"

Cain grimaced. "Try it and find out." He retrieved his duster and his hat, but did not don either. He went down the marble stairs, taking a quick glimpse out the tall lancet windows that overlooked the sandsea. It unnerved him how the drifts undulated gently, like a lake on a breezy day.

It was automatic reaction to hesitate on the last step, just enough of a jolt in momentum for him to chastise himself before putting his foot down on the floor. Ridiculous. Next, he was going to be jumping at shadows – rather, at the kind of shadows that didn't suddenly materialise into headstrong princesses. Behind him, he could hear the sand crunching beneath Glitch's boots as he shifted as much as he possibly could without falling behind. Truth be told, Cain couldn't blame him. He didn't exactly fancy the idea of being left alone within the desiccated palace. As for kicking up a new mess, Cain didn't see the reason; whatever force had settled the floor, it would do it again before their return. He just had that feeling.

Outside, the heat was stifling; the world beyond the courtyard danced in shimmering waves. The relentless suns near blinded him as he left the dimness of the hall. The sky was dotted with clouds now but none seemed brave enough to venture cross the suns. The shade beneath the shelter of the walls offered a little reprieve, and it was here that they found Tutor, big hands dabbing at his shining forehead with a pocket handkerchief.

"Finally decided to grace us with your wisdom?" Cain asked, and despite his best reservations, he couldn't keep the edge out of his voice. He'd long since grown weary of the old teacher's timely arrivals. None ever seemed to bode well.

"I'm only here to see how things turn out," said Tutor. Despite the burdens that marked his dark face, there was a spark in his eye that outshone it all. "DG's doing fine. It's you two who need to sit back and see what happens."

"I could do with a little sitting," Glitch said, folding himself quite neatly to sit at the base of the wall with Tutor. Cain watched the two of them for a moment, but with the suns beating down on his face, he was in no position to argue. He set his back against the cool stone on Glitch's opposite side. He closed his eyes against the afternoon, and allowed himself to breathe.

"Did you notice the floor, by any chance?" Glitch said to, Cain assumed, Tutor. It was always a possibility that his friend could be having a repeat conversation with him. Though Glitch's mental inconsistencies had tapered to a minimum since they'd met, there was still the occasional misfire in his thought processes that continued to inspire his namesake.

"I did," the old teacher replied with no special significance, "while you were all eyeing up the wallpaper. What of it?"

"No insight to offer? It is your area of expertise," Glitch said with no uncertain amount of condescension. If his eyes hadn't been closed, Cain would've rolled them; to think he'd come all this way to listen to academician bickering.

"I wouldn't pay those tricks any more attention than is deserved," Tutor said dismissively. "All is illusory, and we are in the middle of it. We see what we're meant to see. What we're _wanted_ to see."

Glitch heaved a much put upon sigh. "Why, when I ask you a question, do you leave me with three more?"

Cain couldn't care less about questions. His mind was on the road behind him, the miles they'd travelled. The days – and the nights. He missed the trees, the crisp air of the mountains, the scent of jack pine. Every breath here was a labour, drawing his lungs full of heat. He looked forward to every step north they'd take when their purpose was done. He'd gone above and beyond for DG, for all of them, but he wanted to go home.

He was thinking of the refuge of Finaqua, of the promise of hot water and a proper bed, when Raw and the girl returned from tending the horses. While far from the personification of serenity as her mother was, DG seemed calm and quite under her own control once more. She'd pulled her dark hair up into a bun, and the back of her neck was damp with sweat. Her slacks were rolled up to the knee, showing off pale, skinny legs that ended with those clumsy trainers she always insisted on wearing. Raw was barefoot, leather sandals abandoned; he seemed otherwise unaffected by the heat, but he sat down heavily next to Tutor in the shade and immediately closed his eyes.

DG had not come to hide in the shade. She stood in the middle of the courtyard, staring up at the greag house. Her hands were on her hips, and the more he watched her watching the house, the more he was convinced that there was something forming inside that head of hers. The skeptical little twist to her lips betrayed that calm he'd noticed just moments before.

It crossed his mind to go to her, take his usual stance behind her, glancing over her shoulder so that he might see her profile, get an inkling as to what she was thinking, but his feet were anchored; he was a part of the cool stone at his back, grown over it like ivy.

_Just let her be_, he told himself, and it was easy to believe it was the right thing to do. There was nothing out here to hurt her that he could defend her from. What might wish her ill was beyond his ability to protect her from it. Small as she was, naïve as she was, _young_ as she was, there was more power within her, more instinct and raw talent, than he'd ever know or possess.

Still, he couldn't deny that pulling inside him, whatever piece of himself that wanted to help her. There were times in his life when he'd wrested against his self-control – dark times, thoughts and places he'd rather not return to – but now was not one of them. His heart might have gone out to her, but his feet stayed put.

She didn't notice his absence, but it seemed to him there was little that broke through the focus that had consumed her. After a few more moments of willing something to happen, she gave up and wandered inside.

Not a one of them moved, though there was more than one nervous glance exchanged, Tutor the only one with an ounce of faith. It was quiet in the courtyard then, but for the distant roar as the waves of the sandsea tossed and scraped against the rocks below.

_Let her be_.

With a low groan, Cain pushed himself away from the wall. "You three can argue over who takes first watch," he said, jerking his chin toward the gate. "I need some sleep. Wake me up in a few hours if nothing's changed." He left the others to watch after him uneasily as he walked the length of the wall and settled himself in a shaded corner. He knew he needn't worry about the others, DG especially. A few hours without him looming over their shoulders would give them all a rest. Now, there was nothing he could do but sleep.

* * *

The long shadows of early evening had cast over the courtyard by the time Cain came awake, though for no reason he could rightly discern. The sky was streaked with the golds and reds of sunsdown, the glow in the west bursting upwards over the high walls. He could hear the movement of the others, the low murmur of their voices, but he couldn't see them.

He stood, stretched; there was an ache in his shoulder that was becoming more and more stubborn as these days on the road wore on. There was just no getting used to sleeping on the ground.

Just beyond the gate, he found the others – minus the princess – in convergence. He scanned the horizon, and he saw their animals, one, two, three, four, grazing out on the plain. Their gear was piled neatly to the inside of the archway, though it seemed that one or more pairs of hands had been rummaging through it. DG's absence could barely be considered conspicuous. One look at any of his companions was enough to tell him that only the suns had moved along; their own situation remained ever the same.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"Inside," Raw answered. "DG very restless."

"We could hear her rummaging around in there for a while, but it's gotten pretty quiet," Glitch added. He glanced toward the wide-open doors. "I poked my head in, but she was just sitting at the top of the stairs looking out the big windows."

Cain looked toward the house himself; the walls had fallen mostly into shadow, the windows looking down into the courtyard – the windows that framed the ruined painting – were dark and empty. Beyond the gate of the great house, out on the plain, he was afforded a view of eternity; to the west, the suns sank lower in the orange sky, long fingers of truer red reaching out in a high arc toward the hazy, blue night rising in the east. Here he was, caught in between.

The wind had picked up, a quiet rush and a whistle through the grass. It cooled his sweat-dampened neck, breathed a bit of life back into him. The others didn't seem to share in his sentiment; having been out of the shelter of the courtyard for much longer, they were starting to look positively chilled. The heat of the afternoon had given way to a pleasant, warm evening, but within the hour, within two, that warmth would sink to nothing with the suns.

Much to his dismay, they looked to be spending the night. It didn't feel right to him, but their best option was to set a watch and sleep in the relative safety of the courtyard. Leastwise, they would be out of the wind. Without DG beside him to direct his planning with the lean of her whims, however, he wasn't about to settle into any course of action. This was her there-and-back tale, as she'd plaintively told him their last evening in the mountains. Had that only been than a day and a half before? Damn, felt much longer than that.

Cain looked hard at the old teacher, who at least had the decency to look slightly intimidated. "Any idea if she's gonna have to sit in there alone all night, or are you still pretending you haven't got a clue?"

Tutor gave a tired half-smile. "It might be that you just need to go and ask her, Mr. Cain."

He bit back an annoyed growl and just barely managed a polite reply. "Might be." He walked away before he started barking orders at them; his mood was no fault of theirs, and even the veil of his frustration did not blind him. He could see their troubles were no different than his own.

He entered through the faded red doors, feeling all the while that he was walking over more than just a threshold, through more than just a weathered old frame. There was an uneasiness inside him that was hard to quiet with mere assurances, though that wasn't to say he didn't try. He remembered that chill he'd felt so many months ago entering the northern palace, the shiver he'd attributed to the cold; the dead fear he'd known in the dark forest beyond the maze at Finaqua. Walking into the empty, ruinous palace now affected him the same way, a deep-seated unknowing that spoke to his body and mind in tongues long forgotten by his consciousness. Perhaps his people had never known it.

But DG did.

He didn't find her on the stairs where she'd last been seen. As he crossed the hall, he watched the upper balcony that surrounded the hall, but the balustrade hid most everything from this vantage. He began to make a bit more noise, letting his feet fall a little harder on the gritty tile. Again, a fresh, untouched layer of dust for him to mark with bootprints. He stopped, and went to one knee, running his fingertips over the floor; a few grains of sand clung to his skin, and he rubbed his fingers together, rolling the rough texture against his thumb before brushing his hand off on his trousers. Illusory, indeed.

"Hey, Tin Man, whatcha doing?"

He stood, and turned. She was at the far end of the hall, on the balcony above the entrance. She seemed to have put a little more faith in the structural integrity of the carved stone balustrade, because she was leaning on it to look down at him. He didn't answer her, instead making the long walk up the west staircase and down the length of the balcony. By the time he'd reached her, she'd gone back to doing what he supposed she'd been doing when she'd heard him: staring up at the mouldering painting as if waiting for it to come to life just for her. What he hadn't expected was the addition of a few choice curses flowing out of that sweet mouth of hers; he couldn't help smiling at the fact she was giving the wall an earful.

"A better question might be, what are _you_ doing, darlin'?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him, and willingly returned his smile. "I'm trying to make sense of this mess."

He came to a stop a few feet behind her. "You could be at that quite a while. The suns are going down."

"I have to hurry."

He started at that, and resolved to watch her a little more closely. "Why," was all he wanted to know.

She turned, slowly. "Do you _see_ that sunset?"

"'Course I did," he said, not needing to turn to know the sky outside was open and deep with dusk, bleeding in the east with a red sunset. Instead, he kept his eye on her, though she looked past him, to that same sky beyond the windows he'd seen when walking across the lower hall. "What's so –"

"I have to hurry," she repeated. With her dark hair pulled back, he could see so clearly the angles of her face, the set of her jaw against his and anyone else's interference. Her eyes were wide and fiercely blue. The notion crossed his mind to pull the tie from her hair to see it fall, to soften and hide the determination written so boldly on every inch of her, but his hands stayed where he'd anchored them on his belt.

"DG," he said carefully, but she turned away, put her back to him and the windows and that red, red sky. He said her name again.

She shushed him, a truly short and impatient sound. He raised an eyebrow, bit his tongue.

"There was supposed to be something here," she muttered. "I did everything I could. We've come _so far_."

Cain struggled with how to help her; he'd never known a more sure-fire way to ease her than to hold her, but he kept his distance, stood still to watch her as he'd warned himself was right. There was no point in minding his tongue, either, when words had absolutely failed him. He hated to be proven right, a painful burn in the back of his throat that wouldn't swallow away. Might be he was about to choke on his own cynicism, and it was rightly deserved. He'd rather have been wrong a thousand times over if it took away this moment, the hard-bearing inevitability they'd never been able to avoid.

"There _is_ something here," she said, utter conviction turning her voice to gravel. "Missing something – I'm _missing_ something."

"And what if you're not?" he asked, a vain attempt to break her out of the spiral her mind seemed caught in. "What if this is it, kiddo?"

"It's not." She shook her head. "It's not, just – just trust me. There's – damn it, I want to see this painting!"

Cain sighed, unable to help it. She paid him no mind; in fact, within a few moments, she was back to outright ignoring him. He said her name, said it again, but without so much as a dismissive wave in his direction, she took a few cautious steps toward the greyed wall until she could have reached out and touched it. He thought, for the briefest moment only, that she might do just that, despite the fact that she'd warned them of the damage their hands could do to the plaster.

She didn't touch the painting, instead keeping her palms pressed flat to the tops of her thighs as she leaned over and blew at the dust on the wall, one long breath to chase away the layers of age and decay that had grown over what had once been a thing of beauty. He almost rolled his eyes at the childish gesture – but as one second passed, and then another, his eyes widened as the pale shimmer of her light swept over the surface of the wall, blossoming outward until the wall was clean from corner to corner.

DG laughed, and backed away from the wall. She threw a grin over her shoulder, obviously pleased with herself.

"Well, isn't that something," he said, and whistled. Impressive to his mind, but a mere trick for all the untapped power that dwelt somewhere within her. The girl had the power to give life, to take it, with her breath, with that little mouth of hers that could swear or smile at him as easy as lying. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against the darkness of his thoughts.

Then, she was beside him, close enough to press her arm down the length of his. Her eyes were back on the wall – no, on the painting, and he supposed that his should be, too. He looked up, unsure of what he expected. The whole of the piece, taking up the entirety of the wall, was painted to mirror the windows at the opposite end of the hall. Five panels, tall lancet shapes, each depicting a different scene. The colours had faded over time, pockmarked with age, and the surface of the wall was webbed with hairline cracks. The last of the suns-light filtered in from the north- and-south-facing windows to touch on the painting and it's five near life-size figures, backed by landscapes and versicoloured skies.

The first, an old woman clothed in white, behind her a great misty forest and a lavender sky; the second, a pale woman with an axe at her feet, before rolling patchwork hills, an azure sky. The central panel was different, sided by two more figures in their windows, a beautiful woman, shadowed mountains, a ruby sun, and finally a sallow, sad woman with a hand over one eye, standing on an empty prairie under golden clouds.

But that central panel, twice as wide as those on either side – his eyes returned to it again and again. The background was filled with darkness, no tinted sky to add to the myriad but instead crowded with cruel, spiny towers, cast a haunting, emerald green. The foreground was dominated not by a standing woman, but by a young girl seated on a throne much too big for her. Her feet dangled above a pair of silver slippers set on the floor. Her long dark hair and wide, frightened eyes unnerved him more than he cared admit.

He tore his eyes away from the painting, and settled them on the girl still pressed against his arm. The child in the picture could have been her, just as – he imagined, all too vividly – could her mother, and each of them in line, generations of chestnut crowned Gales.

"Four sisters," DG said, leaning into him a little more, "and _her_."

There'd been a time in his life when he'd known the history of his country as well as any other school-aged child. There'd been a time when he could have recited names, dates, provincial conflicts, and the great alliances of ages past. At one moment or another in his life, most of it had slipped away as he'd learned new things, trading one knowledge for another. He could remember with stark clarity the names of undercity contacts, all long dead in the war, every smuggling route in and out of Central; his hands remembered his wife's skin beneath his touch, those same hands that now knew the soft hesitance of DG's reach. But he did not remember these women – save the girl in their midst.

The painting before him was true history, he sensed. He wondered which woman represented the dark crone who'd taken Azkadellia bodily so many annuals before. Which had been slain by the first Gale, DG's namesake, upon her untimely arrival in the O.Z.? Wasn't that how the stories went?

"Red," came her soft voice beside him. "That's Glinneth." Needlessly, she pointed; against his better judgement, he looked. Even the fading and weathering of the painting did little to hide the fact that the woman in the fourth panel was more beautiful than any he'd ever seen, surreal in her grace and serenity. Again he glanced away, looked at the floor, at the windows, at DG herself, anywhere but at the ruby goddess formed of pigment and plaster.

"DG –"

She shushed him again, but there was little force behind the rush of her breath. So, in silence he stood beside her, and he waited only because she waited. He could hear nothing but the wind whistling through the windows in the rooms off the balcony, and the faint sounds of the others moving around down in the courtyard outside.

Soon, the glory of the red sunset faded into the deep purple of twilight; the long shadows crept the length of the hall, leeching out what colour remained in the old painting until all that remained to the women and their skies was grey. Cain closed his eyes as the last rays of the sun vanished and left them standing together in the empty hall, as the gloom set forth to wrap them in night's secure embrace.

The red suns had set. The day was gone.

A long sigh escaped DG, one that took the strength out of her legs, and she might have sank to her knees, to the dust and grit that coated the balcony floor, but he turned and put his hands on her arms, held her up as the tremor ran through her and out of her, and she found her own two feet again.

"What do I do now?" she whispered under her breath, and he held no delusion that her words were directed at him. He only waited, squeezing her arms gently, as she regained what little composure she could. In the dimness of the shadow-filled hall, it wasn't hard to see her face, pale and sad. What thoughts moved through her mind, he could only guess at, but he knew with one look into her eyes that she was seeing him, more perhaps than she had since they'd left Finaqua, maybe even Central City. No, longer – since the night he'd left her alone in her room, tears shining on her cheeks. The night she'd asked him to stay with her.

"Cain," she said, "I think I want to go home." Her voice lacked the conviction he'd heard from her not an hour before.

It took him a long moment before he was able to reply, forcing the words out even then. "If you're sure, darlin'."

She looked up at him with those sky eyes of hers, and she nodded, a weak gesture at best but still wilful and true. "I was sure. I _was._ I don't know –" Her voice cracked and she stopped herself short. She took a deep, shivering breath, and he thought that her knees might go again; his grip tightened instinctively, but she kept steady, giving him a reassuring half-smile. "Thank you," she said, and cleared her throat, nodding again. Nervous. "I –"

"You don't have to." He meant it. They'd done this once already, she'd scolded him for pretending, but he'd never felt more strongly against something. After all that had happened, he didn't deserve her gratitude.

"I know I don't have to."

She pressed up on her toes then, placing the soft touch of a kiss near the corner of his mouth as she'd done perhaps a dozen times since he'd come to know her. The memory lingered on his skin longer than her lips. It was quick, then done, changing nothing, not the dark hall around them or the whisper of the wind through the forgotten rooms, nor the watching gazes of the five panels. All remained the same, yet she left him undeniably shaken; his hands flexed on her arms again, and her eyes focused on his chest, over his shoulder, anywhere but at his face after she'd pulled away.

"DG," he said, and she swallowed hard, but her eyes stayed on his vest buttons. He reached up to put her jaw in his hand, his thumb under her chin. "DG, look at me."

She did so reluctantly, her lips pressed together. Her face was heavy with the guilt of imagined transgressions. She was as close as she was ever going to get without backing off, without running away, and it was closer than he'd ever permitted her. Not just the sweet, simple kiss she'd placed on his cheek, but with words and eyes and her disarming faith she'd crept in until she was inside of him, a part of his heart, just as the blood that coursed through him then and every moment of his life. Her blue eyes saw through him, bore into him, seeing and knowing more than she had a right to, more than the annuals of her life should allow.

She'd asked him to stay while knowing he would leave, stayed while he'd run. She'd known, and she'd waited.

It was with that sobering thought that he finally did what he should have done that last night in Central City, before he'd left, before the long, lonely winter had put more than time and distance between them. The swift duck of his shoulders surprised her, and it was a gasp that escaped into him as he kissed her, tipping her head back to capture her lips under his. Her hands reached up to clutch at his arms, her fingernails pressing into his shirtsleeves. It was a light kiss, chaste, and over too soon. He lifted himself away, feeling her uneven breath on his lips, and he ignored the base desire to kiss her again, draw her into him and keep her there.

"Wyatt," she said softly, and he could see the struggle for sense in her eyes. He had no explanation for her, no reason. He could only let his hand slide away from her jaw, resting it on the curve of her neck; his fingers played absently with the wispy curls there that had escaped the hair-tie.

"What can I do, DG?" he asked, carefully watching her face in the thickening shade of evening.

She closed her eyes, and pressed herself tighter into his arms. "Home," she whispered, voice so small and meek he barely heard, "please, Wyatt, take me home."


	28. For Every Night After

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

* * *

_When Last We Met: At the end of the world, in the ruin of a once-great palace, the group finds no hint nor trace of the witch they've sought since Finaqua, nothing but a likeness in an old painting. Tired and weary, the princess has given up, and her friends are left with no choice but to face the return journey, and all that lies waiting for them in the realms of the O.Z._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Eight: For Every Night After  
**

The moons were rising out of the east, and the wind-swept prairie beyond the courtyard was dark and cold. Soon, the clean white light of the moons would wash over the black of the young night.

Wyatt Cain stood watch outside the courtyard, his back resting against the high wall. The night was clear, and the stars burned bright; the sky was vast and unending above him. To the north, the silhouette of the red mountains was a comforting reminder that there was still a road home.

He hoped that the path would be illuminated for DG, so that she might see the moons' gaze and all touched by their light, and not the bleak, empty darkness that had fallen.

Alone with his thoughts, she was his greatest concern.

He didn't mind this alone time during his watch; there was something cathartic about long, uninterrupted stretches of quiet. Even without sleep, he rested easily with his thoughts as they slowly took shape in his mind. There was no rushing when he was by his lonesome, each breath was at pace, and each stress and worry began to relax, and lessen. When he could – and he arranged it so he always could – he took the second watch, the blackest stretch of night between midnight and dawn.

Over the course of their journeys together, DG had gotten into the habit of crawling out of her bedroll to join him while the others slept soundly nearby, often spending close to his entire shift with him, even if it was only in comfortable silence. These past few tension-filled nights had put an end to her visits, and he realised now, listening to the southerly winds buffet the cliffs, that he sorely missed her invasions on his solitude.

He sighed quietly, hoping her to be deeply asleep and untroubled by their earlier argument. To think that she might be laying awake, listening to that lonely wind as he was, was enough to cinch his throat tight with guilt. She'd gone to bed furious, if only to hide her tears from him. The thought did little to warm him.

His intention had never been to anger her, let alone alienate her, and he knew she was aware of that, otherwise he was certain she would have argued with him until the suns had begun to rise, or even longer if it meant getting her way. She wouldn't fight the fact that he was right, he knew, but she wasn't about to acknowledge it, either; he was all right with that. After all, he'd known, even before the words had left his mouth, that she wasn't going to be happy with what he had to say.

It had been after supper, or what semblance of an actual meal they'd attempted without a fire, cold and comfortless, when he'd cleared his throat and drawn four pairs of eyes to himself. "We leave for Finaqua in the morning," he'd said, as calm and rational as he'd ever been as he'd laid it out. "We aren't going to push it, but we should make it in five days."

In the deep blue of the evening, he'd not been able to register the emotions that so clearly played out on the faces of his friends; the shadows did not betray them, but he could hear in their voices their confusion – and their relief.

"We're done? That's it?" Glitch had asked.

"If that's what DG wants," Tutor had said, the only one who seemed disappointed. "Is it, DG?"

"No," she'd said sharply. "I said I wanted to go home. Back to Central City."

"_Ohh_," Glitch'd said, "that's not a good idea, Deege. No, no, no, we can't do that."

"Yes, we can, so yes, we will."

"DG –"

Cain had cut in then. "DG, Finaqua is your safest bet."

Wearily, she'd said, "Don't start in on my personal safety, Cain, not after coming all the way out here with me."

He hadn't backed down, bristled to annoyance of her constant shifting between his given name and his surname. "I know you're itchin' to get back, princess, but we can't –"

"I'm not staying in Finaqua, Cain. I'm going home to my sister. I want – I want to see my mother."

If he'd ever been one to let sensibility carry him, he'd have let that simple plea cripple his will; too bad he'd always been a heartless bastard. "You can't charge head-first into this. We've been out of Central for weeks, and I want to know what's been happening before we rush in there."

"Says the man who –" The saturation of bitterness in her voice near hurt to hear, but she'd stopped herself, bitten off the sentence abruptly, and sighed. "You know what? Never mind." Her words were tight, full of hidden edges, and he found himself glad he couldn't see what her face might show. "We mustn't ever do irrational things because of our families. Finaqua it is."

Just the thought of those cutting words now, alone, left him breathless. Shivering in the wind, Cain turned the collar of his duster coat up, slouching just a little more against the wall.

She'd gone to bed soon after that, refusing all attempts at placation, and he, not wanting to speak to anyone, had started his watch early. The others had soon followed DG to sleep. Hours had passed, but still he was haunted by her unhappiness. It had been easy to decipher the meaning of her words, and to come to terms with the fact that she'd called him out as a hypocrite, but what was harder to understand, by his way of thinking, was how deeply interwoven her anger and hurt was with what had happened between them on the balcony. He knew he'd sent her mind reeling when he'd kissed her; hell, his own mind was still trying to sort out how it'd happened when it did. After all, the moment hadn't exactly been opportune. Her sadness had driven his actions, hindered his – groaning low, Cain let his head hang. Justification could do nothing when the honest truth was that in his heart he'd known it was just time for it, and that was that. Heartless bastard, indeed.

"_Please, Wyatt, take me home," _she'd said, with all the faith that he'd honour her without fail. He'd turned it around on her, passively denying her request even as she demanded and negotiated as only the young can, those who still innocently, wholeheartedly believe that perseverance begets possibility.

"_She cannot go back." _He heard it in his own mind, these four words that had coloured every decision he'd made since their arrival in Finaqua, where closing his eyes had led to more questioning, more doubt and uncertainty, than he'd ever experienced. Since then, since that single, strange dream, his mind had been his own, never again had the image of a dying woman revisited him in slumber. He never fully accepted that it hadn't been all his own overtaxed imagination to begin with. Maybe it was time to let Lavender's faint plea go, time to listen to DG. He owed her no less.

He settled back, content with this thought. Even the reality of this dismal failure of a mission did little to dislodge the peace that he'd found in knowing he could still set things right.

He heard footsteps.

More than once, often in times such as these, when the night was lonely and oppressive, he'd considered that perhaps DG could read his thoughts, or that the girl was attuned to him, more sensitive to him than his mere human self could comprehend. As she stepped out through the archway, fully materialised and wholly herself, with no shadow magic to trick his eyes, he wondered if she could sense his ease.

Or maybe, he thought with a wry half-smile, she'd just been awake this whole time, feigning sleep in an effort to hide herself and her weaknesses. He kept his tongue firmly in his head as she spotted him, walked slowly over, and situated herself next to him, back to the wall and wool coat buttoned to the throat. She didn't look at him, didn't speak, only shivered and watched the twin moons rising into the sky.

"You know, princess," he began, but found he didn't know where he'd go from there.

She did. "That's the second time you've called me that tonight. You trying to make a point about duty and responsibility, Tin Man?"

"No," he said slowly, "it's just a point we've been forgettin' of late."

"I don't forget that," she said, bitterness leeching through into her words.

"Well, I do," he said, turning his head to look at her. The pale moonslight allowed him to see her eyes, her sweet, unsmiling mouth, and that stubborn set of jaw that his resolve had broken against so many times before. "I do forget on occasion."

She didn't seem to know what to say to that. She searched his face for signs of sugar-coating, of the pretty white lies she'd become so accustomed to; he hoped, perhaps vainly, that all she would find was his honesty laid bare.

"Now here's what I can't forget," he said, and he coughed when the words almost caught in his throat, as he choked on the truth. "I can't forget there are damn good reasons you're meant to stay out of Central, reasons I can't let you ignore." She scowled at him, but he wasn't finished. "What happens once we get to Central is your affair and not mine, DG, but there's no knowing whose eyes are watching the walls."

She shook her head, dismissing his worries without pause to consider them. "So we sneak in quietly; it's not exactly difficult."

What, he wondered, had inspired such confidence in her, that it was spurring her to outright recklessness. The gentility of his words was almost forced. "The outer realms might not know you're not in Central City where you should be, but there's folks in the city who know full well you aren't, and you can assume they know you're not in Finaqua, either."

"So?" she asked carefully. Could be she was beginning to doubt her own mettle, such was the quivering lilt in her voice, so clear for so little.

"_So_, your family might not be expecting you, but you'd be right in thinking that someone is, someone who hasn't gone ahead and put you out of mind," he said, much harder than he'd intended. She flinched visibly; inwardly, he berated himself. He didn't want to frighten her, only wanted her prepared. "You need to warn your sister before you start running up the brick route. She's the one that'll get you safe into the city, not any planning between you or me."

DG slumped a little against the wall, and she let go a long exhale; had she been holding her breath as he'd come down on her? "So we go to Finaqua," she said, a picture of misery in her defeat. "Send a messenger."

He nodded. "None of us are gonna stop you if you want to go home, darlin', but we aren't gonna let you risk your life to do it. Well, at least no more than we usually do."

The smile she gave him was as weak as the light that shone upon it, but it was there, and very real, and he'd learned along the road to take to heart what he knew to be honest. She leaned a little closer into him, resting her cheek against his arm as the wind whipped her long hair about her face. She was quiet for minutes beyond counting, and he was content with her presence next to him, the reassurance of her weight pressing into him.

Above them, the sky played silent sentinel to their refuge. The stars kept watch for him as he closed his eyes, head bowed to his chest. His thoughts remained quiet, leaving him to the moment of peace he'd found in so unlikely a place. It wasn't until the girl shifted against him, saying his name so softly he almost didn't hear, that he was brought back to the reality of a lonely, empty world and a cold stone wall at his back.

He looked down; her eyes were on him, pale and haunted.

"Will you stay in Central City?"

Sighing, Cain watched her face carefully as he answered. "I'd been thinkin' on it. I suppose it depends on the welcome we get." Such purposeful evasiveness caused her to look away, but all it took was her name from his lips to bring her eyes back to him, heartbreak written at the edges of her painfully detached expression. With hesitation born of the turmoil inside, he reached up a hand and lightly brushed her windblown hair away from her face. She stood still and unsure as his cold fingers lingered a long moment on her cheek. "I'll stay with you, darlin', if you'll have me."

She let her eyes meet his then, confusion lacing into her furrowed brow. He was certain there were more pacifying words to give her, little nothings to take the worry and the guilt out of her face, but damned if he could make himself say them; his tongue stayed firmly put in his head, to keep in the promises that wanted to spill out at her feet, promises for her to walk forward on with faith and courage and sweet, sweet hope. Promises he'd only made to one other person, in a life that had shattered so completely for this one to be able to exist.

"Do you think they'll let us stay?"

"Can't say."

She nodded mutely, wrapping her arms about herself. Another hard gust of wind hit them, picking up her hair in a wild flurry, and for a moment he was speechless, watching the shadows dance about her. She bowed her head and shivered and the spell was broken with the force of the wind as he stepped closer to her and slid his arms about her waist, sheltering her as she shook. Slowly, as the wind died away for a time and the safety of his embrace did not abate around her, her body stilled. Her arms were thin, but strong and sure, as they went about his neck; she pushed up on her toes to press herself close into his chest. He wondered, as he felt a different kind of tremble begin to course through her, how deeply into him the girl would need to bury herself before she felt truly safe.

When finally she drew away, lowering herself onto steady feet, she kept her eyes on his face. Even in the pale light of the moons, he saw more clearly than he ever had before the love she'd once upon professed to him, her final desperate attempt to sway him the night she'd laid her heart bare and he'd turned his back and walked away. It crossed his mind to make an excuse, to disentangle himself from this embrace he'd begun, anything to distract her, himself, to end this moment and leave himself with some semblance of his dignity intact.

But no, fool that he was – coward that he was – he stayed still as she tipped up onto her toes again, pressing her lips to his with all the gentleness she had in her small frame. It was tentative and new, the whisper of her mouth against his, her breath on his tongue as she pulled back a bare inch with a shivering exhale. Later on, he'd blame the wind, cold on his lips as he'd leaned in, closing the gap to seek out the warmth her parting had left him wanting. He could taste the lonely night wind on her lips with every brush made against his, and when he finally, reluctantly, broke away from her, it was with the sure knowledge that it wasn't going to be so easy again.

Her eyes opened slowly, her lashes casting muted webs of shadow across her pale cheeks. Another ragged breath escaped her tender mouth, and she reached up a hand to touch her lips before her eyes made their way up to meet with his, and she froze under him.

"Wyatt –" she began, but there was a dangerous questioning in her voice that threatened to counter his intent. His arm tightened around her waist with a jerk, and she gasped at the suddenly intimate press of their bodies, and a newer, fiercer knowledge settled over him as he realised the girl in his arms, the girl whispering his name, hadn't the faintest idea that she could so easily undo him with a few heated kisses.

"You need to get yourself to bed, darlin'," he said, and the undercurrent of warning was not lost on her; she did as she was bid with a woeful little stare, a half-smile that could turn pout in the blink of an eye if she so wished. The final glance over her shoulder as she disappeared through the archway near had him calling her back, to better know that spark of curiosity that was so clear in her face.

Cain settled back against the wall once more just as another gust of wind threatened to unbalance him again. Strange, being alone with his thoughts wasn't quite as appealing as it'd been before.

* * *

Sleep was no friend to him that night, in the long hours before dawn. After waking Glitch for the last watch, he'd taken up a stretch of wall inside the courtyard, near to where DG had curled up in her bedroll. As he'd passed her, he'd leaned down to tuck the corner of her blanket around her shoulder. She hadn't stirred.

His own bedroll was bereft of any comfort, and he'd sat with his back to the wall, head bobbing every now and again as he'd dozed. He'd wake in those moments, glancing up at the black blanket of the sky, woven through with thousands of stars. Infinite above him, the sky kept its watch, and his heavy head would ease a little deeper into sleep. At his last half-awake glance, the sky had been fading to a softer grey, the stars still burning bright. When again he opened his eyes, it was to blue sky and streaming sunslight, and the distant barking of the damn dog, somewhere out beyond the walls.

He sat up a little straighter, rolling each of his shoulders in turn before pushing himself to standing. He was alone in the courtyard, the belongings of himself and his companions still scattered here or there, all in some sort of state of being repacked for their return home. He stood silently for a moment, drinking in the quiet, the subtle warmth of the morning suns that hadn't yet grown to the full, blinding intensity that would come later in the day.

They'd leave come first sunset. While he didn't much like the idea of lingering one more day in this cursed place, he wasn't about to subject his friends, or their horses, to the scorching heat of the open prairie. Dusk would be falling soon enough.

On the other side of the wall, Glitch was settled down in the dirt, languid legs stretched out, smile as pleasant and free as could be, as if he were basking in the suns on some sweet-breeze lakeshore, and not an inhospitable ruin in a dead land, a broken stone cast to the end of the world. No, his spirit could not be affected by such things as sun and wind. That hauntingly contented smile had weathered far worse.

"I was just thinking of giving you a kick good morning," Glitch said as Cain approached.

"I'll kindly thank you not to. I'd hate to have to hurt you."

Glitch laughed, as he always did when Cain slipped into the comfort of violent allusions. Physical strength was of little use when outmatched by sense and speed. "I assume we're waiting until dark to leave," he said. Never did his eyes leave the golden, grassy sea that spread out in all directions before them. In all his life, Cain had never expected to find himself on so distant a shore.

"I want to have the horses saddled and ready by the time the first sun goes down," he said, anchoring his thumbs to his belt as he leaned back against the wall. It was becoming his customary perch, this small stretch of wall just to the left of the archway. Scanning the prairie, it wasn't long until he spotted a bit of brown moving quickly and aimlessly through the long grass. "What's got him so worked up?" He looked down to see his friend shrug.

"I haven't the faintest idea," Glitch said, and he ran a hand over his shaggy hair. Only a few weeks out of Central City and the man's head looked to be turning wild again. "You don't think that if something was wrong, he'd keep it from us, would he?"

"Wish that I knew," he said, and sighed. "Least this way he's not putting ideas into the kid's head."

Glitch looked up at him, raising a critical eyebrow. "Still calling her that, are you?"

"Old habit," he grunted, as non-committal as possible.

"If you say so, Cain."

A silence fell, as thick and uncomfortable as the warm, dusty air he was pulling in with each breath. Around him, the whir of insects reminded him that this was not, in fact, a dead land. The wind played through the grass, the rush of it at times drowning out the mutt's insistent barking.

Daylight, bright and unforgiving, did nothing to lessen the loneliness of this place. Gods, but wouldn't he be glad to leave it behind.

"Where are Raw and DG?"

Glitch took his time in answering, notching up a knee to rest his forearm upon before looking up at Cain. "Holed up inside," he said. "The two of them took the horses for water early this morning; I figured it would do DG some good to get away from here for a few hours, but when they got back, she marched straight back inside with her sketchbook, dragging poor Raw with her. She had her 'gonna try something' face on, so I assume –"

Cain growled low to himself as he stood up straight. He left Glitch to stammer out the last few words of his sentence, lost as he disappeared around the wall. He crossed the courtyard, sparing a glance for the crumbling fountain as he passed it. The doors into the hall were opened wide, and while he couldn't see either of them as he entered, he hadn't expected to. He knew where they would be.

He heard their voices – rather, heard _hers_ – as he made his way down the length of the hall to the split staircases at the far end. If either of them took notice of his presence as he crossed the hall below them, no one called out to him to show it. He mounted the steps two at a time, sand scraping beneath his boots. When he reached the wide, circular balcony, he moved quickly past a long row of rooms empty of naught but rusting iron and rotting plaster. Above the entrance, the long curve at the top of the hall was brightened with the morning sunslight, making the deep shadows of the night before a distant memory as the painting blazed with colour.

"What're you two doing?"

Raw turned toward him, looking quite unlike himself. Exhaustion marked his features, the same as each and every one of them, but there was a heaviness in his every movement, a sadness that weighted even the contours of his face, so that when he turned and tried to smile, it was such a visible effort that Cain couldn't help but wonder what about the princess had him vexed so.

"You try," he grumbled wearily as Cain reached them. "Raw cannot – DG won't see."

"I can, too," she said, but her back was turned to the both of them. Her hand was on the wall, on the second to last panel, the tall woman in a dress of flowing red.

"Raw said _won't._" And he walked away.

Cain waited until the Viewer had descended the stairs, and crossed the long hall. Only once he'd heard the finality of the doors closing downstairs did he clear his throat – _loudly_ – but it had no effect on the girl. She went about tapping her fingers on the painting impatiently; there'd been a word she'd used for it, damned if he could remember, but it didn't seem to matter. Whatever the otherworldly term she'd used, it was just paint, just a picture from the mind's eye of an artist who'd lived and loved and died centuries before.

He said her name; she went on pretending he hadn't. Finally, he went over to her and laid a firm hand on her shoulder.

"What was that all about, DG?"

"Won't see," was all she said, muttering under her breath. At least she hadn't shrugged off his touch. "What won't I see?"

"How about you tell me." He tried to turn her away from the painting, but she wouldn't budge.

"I don't _know_," she said, and she let her head fall. Her palm stayed flat on the wall, her arm seemed to be the only thing holding her up. "I asked him what he felt in here, I thought – I thought –"

He sighed. "You thought it'd be like before."

"Or not," she said, fingers on the wall flexing.

"Doesn't quite work that way, does it?" he asked, not unsympathetically. He couldn't imagine this place, desolately cold as it was, would harbour recent memory. Fresh memory could spill like blood, but over the annuals the walls of the great hall had been scourged clean by grit, and sun, and desiccating wind. Memory faded with the life that left it behind, and if Raw had felt _nothing_, then no living eyes had ever set upon this place.

"I tried, I thought it was worth –" She stopped herself as her voice broke, and her arm shook as it gave out, and she crumpled into an ungraceful little heap at the feet of the red woman in her framed panel. To her left, the one-eyed, golden-haired woman looked down balefully at her; to her right, the girl-queen upon her emerald-haunted throne. Cain tore his eyes away from the eerie image to focus on what was real and true before him. He knelt down in front of DG, ignoring the red panel rising over them.

"Time to walk away from this, princess," he said, brushing a knuckle over her knee, tucked so closely to her chin. She hadn't reached the point of tears, but her sky eyes were lidded with guilt.

"It's just a story," she said quietly; it was all he had in him not to pull her into his arms then. "Just a story."

She didn't jerk away from another pass of his touch over her knee. That she accepted his presence when she was at her weakest – falling prey to her own emotions – did not escape his notice, and he settled his hand down on her knee to offer what comfort he could. "Can't fault yourself for wanting to believe it."

"Trying to."

"You won't," he said firmly, fixing her with a cutting glare. "I've never seen someone go so far for someone they loved." It was a lie. He had. Otherwise, the girl before him would've died a child, and he'd still be trapped in iron.

"Except for you, I didn't." The words were said so quickly, on such a rush of breath, that he wasn't sure he'd heard her right. But it was there, written all over her face, in the restless flutter of her hands as she tried to brush his touch away.

"Even for me," he said, allowing her to knock his hand away so that he could bring it up to gently turn her face toward his. He wasn't one for all this talk on past matters, especially of the personal sort, but he had to make her see. "You think I don't know how hard it was for you not to come after me? What you were willin' to do if it meant I'd stay?"

Her cheeks flared with colour, and she cast her eyes downward. He let his hand fall back to her knee. She didn't move.

"I know how big your heart is, darlin'. We've done crazier things together than chase a story to the edge of the Zone," he said, getting a smile out of her at last, however faint and brief it might have been. "Truth be told, I never did think you were gonna sit tight in Finaqua when when all this started and we left Central City." Again the smile, a little wider.

"I just –" She sighed, didn't go on.

"I know."

A few moments later, he was helping her to her feet. There'd been no tears, no woeful lament; he could honestly, and with a small amount of pride, say that she was handling this loss well. Whatever expectation she'd built up on the journey here might have shattered at her feet, but she seemed almost ready to step over the pieces and move on.

Together, they walked the length of the upper balcony, stopping only once to fetch her sketchbook from where she'd stashed it among some tumbled bricks. It was good to see that she was still keeping the book close, these past few nights had lent little time for drawing.

The only sounds in the hall were the touch of their feet against the stone and tile, and the lonely wind blowing through the lancet windows. As they descended the stairs, he took in what he hoped to be his last glimpse of the sandsea, endless and entirely uninviting to his mind. Under the windows, the western and eastern staircases curved round and joined into one, a long landing and five steps down to the tiled floor of the lower hall. He was a few steps ahead of her – Gods, that he'd turned around, grabbed her by the hand, and dragged her from the hall.

The coming days would be plagued with thoughts of what he should have done.

When his boots hit the tiled floor – the grit-coated, undisturbed tiled floor – he made a half turn, thinking her to be right behind him. Instead, he saw that she had stopped on the landing. He raised an eyebrow at her, said her name, but she shushed him, and held up a hand.

"Did you hear that?"

"I didn't –"

She shushed him again, sharply and loudly. All was silent and still in the hall, but for the wind, always the wind. He heard nothing, but should he expect to? No, it was his eyes he used then, his eyes he trusted as he watched the girl – watched her tilt her head, watched her blue eyes widen as she straightened once more. She looked down at him, her teeth digging into her lower lip.

She turned and bolted back up the stairs.

_Oh, hell. _


	29. When The Wind Blows

_Author's Note: First, a heartfelt thank you to all my readers, reviewers, and especially to all those who found the story since I updated it last. Your favourite/alert notifications in my inbox kept me moving forward.  
_

* * *

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

* * *

_When Last We Met: For weeks, Cain has followed after DG, searching for the guardian, Glinneth, an ancient witch the girl had hoped might yet have the power to save her mother. Now, in the shelter of a ruined palace at the very southern edge of the Outer Zone, DG readies herself to face her deeply secret fears, and Cain...  
_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Nine: When the Wind Blows**

He was behind her, he could say that much at least. As she ran up those stairs, he was right behind her. When she froze solid on the landing at the top of the stairs, his hand was on her shoulder, the only comfort he could offer. For Wyatt knew with a single glance that his presence was unwarranted, and for the first time since leaving Central City together, his place was not to be at her side.

On the long, curved stretch of balcony at the far end of the hall, the red woman stood waiting. She was crowned in tumbling auburn curls, her gown of crimson hanging loosely from thin, pale shoulders, bare arms wrapped with metal bands of gold and copper, studded with jewels.

Behind her, where the five-panelled painting had watched over them not ten minutes before, there was nothing but cracked, yellowing plaster. Sunslight spilled in the windows behind her, and for a moment, Cain found himself without thought, or word, or breath.

Then the woman beckoned, and the spell was broken. His head filled with questions, with doubts, every one loud, crass, and demanding; his body tensed with anger and fear, his heart beating thunderously in his chest.

DG hadn't moved. She looked back at him, eyes wide and no longer wondering; the heavy reminder of what curiosity killed had fallen hard on her. If she'd wanted something from him, confidence, assurance, he had nothing for her. Only a gentle squeeze of her shoulder, his hand then sliding down to rest on the small of her back; there it lingered as she gathered herself, a deep breath and a half-smile at him. He gave her a nudge, just the slightest pressure on her back with the tips of his fingers, and she started walking forward. The exchange between them was no more than mere moments, all before the eyes of this red woman, whose name, even in his mind, he could not bring himself to voice.

He followed DG at a good five paces behind, never taking his eyes off the imposing figure that watched their approach with a benign smile. It crossed his mind how many times he had walked the circuit of the balcony in the last few days, how many times he'd passed each of these ruined rooms. Each step, each glimpse was becoming distinctly familiar. The sight at the end of the hall, however, was not. The painting gone, subject made real to see.

DG didn't rush, but it mattered little. Within minutes, the girl came to a cautious stop ten feet away from where the balcony began to curve around; he halted a respectful distance behind her. She clutched her sketchbook to her chest, a familiar talisman to ward off harm – it took a good deal of restraint to keep his fingers from reaching to his side and touching upon the cool metal of his own.

Closer now, he could see the lines etched in the woman's face, the wear of her faded gown, a visage as weathered as the shell of a palace that surrounded them. The shine of her hair was like burnished copper, despite only indirect afternoon sun falling upon it, the only thing about her that seemed real and alive, everything else a trick of the light, a shifting shadow at the mercy of day.

Behind her, the wall was empty and cold, hard to look upon.

"I've been watching you, child." Her voice was faint, words spoken through the dust of ages.

"_Who –_" DG began, but she stopped herself. She shook her head. "Are you the guardian? The witch of the south?"

The smile faded from the woman's lips. "What are those titles to a girl such as you? You, who moves between shadow and light; child of two worlds, blood of a slipper."

The girl raised her chin; he fought off a smile at her small defiance. There was steel in her voice as she spoke, a strength that belied her age, her uncertainties. "I know who I am, and I know who you are. You're _her_. I don't understand. It's been two days –"

"I do not bend to mere appearance, your coming is naught to me. I have seen long centuries marked ever by the rise and fall of the suns. I have known the lives and deaths of your forebears. I have known you. But _you_, child, you've much to learn. You devour your Gale queen's false writ history, pages of pretty fabrication for prettier eyes to read and _learn_. Sent into this world fighting, you make your demands, and all bows before you, but you do not move me. You know nothing."

"I know enough," DG said, and Cain could almost be certain that she believed the words as she was saying them, but as they fell flat, and broke at her feet into so many little pieces, she began to doubt herself, and with good reason. The witch – guardian, goddess, _Glinneth_ – scarcely moved, her face an impassive mask that put his princess to shame. He watched the girl bristle at the empty silence. "I came –"

"You've come seeking power."

DG shook her head. "No! I wanted –"

"That you want is more than sufficient," said the woman; her faded crimson gown flowed like water about her body, a grace of movement unlike anything he'd ever seen as she came closer, her feet making no sound. DG, however unconsciously, took the smallest of steps backward – back toward him, and the scrape of her shoe was deafening. "That you've sought all ends to sate your wanting is a mark of strength and ability, child, but the test of your true courage is yet to come."

DG was wary; Cain, more so. "Test," he said slowly. To hear his own voice seemed wrong to his ears. He didn't belong there.

The red woman's eyes settled on him as if seeing him for the first time, dark and piercing eyes, void of emotion yet alive with – what exactly, he couldn't say. "Your concern for the child runs deep. It is... commendable, to stand with her now in the face of such great uncertainty."

Cain wasn't swayed. "The girl asked you a question."

"As she must, lawman, as she must," Glinneth said, her eyes flicking to DG. "This world is still strange to you, and yet you chase after the ghosts of history, the sentinels who guard a past that haunts you still. You do not move forward. Ever you run from the dawn. You shield yourself behind your questions, cowering."

DG stayed quiet, any argument knocked clean out of her, something he couldn't recall ever accomplishing himself, but the sentiment seemed familiar enough. As he thought back on it, he wondered just how many times he'd stood at her back like this, watching through his own eyes as _her_ life unfolded before them. A few flashes at first, then a dozen or more, mounting in his mind, one after another, scenes so clear, so _real_, but they weren't his memories, places he'd never been, faces he'd never seen, but always it was the two of them, always together, no matter –

The woman was smiling at him. _Smiling_. "You see into the truth of it, lawman. This story is one told before. You know the way of it." Cain could barely manage a nod before the woman had waved a dismissive hand at him. "Leave us."

Though he'd been expecting it, the words jarred him nonetheless. Old habits, by no leave but _hers_.

"DG," he said quietly, and she turned to him. Meekly, she gave her ascent.

"It's okay," she said, and he could almost have believed her. "I'll be fine."

He searched her face, taking all the time in the world to seek out the truth in her, but there was nothing to see that he hadn't seen before, those same sky eyes and that faint smile on sweet, pale lips. Over her shoulder, Glinneth waited silently. He paid her no mind. Truly, what were these moments to her, this witch who'd known centuries?

"Are you sure about this?"

She smiled a little wider, an attempt at reassurance. "Yes, I'm sure."

Cain frowned, not about to be so easily set aside. Another wary glance cast toward the red witch did little to settle him into letting her – no, that wasn't right. Her choices were her own, as far as they'd come, everything that had happened hadn't done so because he'd _let_ it happen. No, he was not so arrogant in that belief; DG had always done as she would, and he followed, skeptical until the end. There was no precedence to set this apart. Still –

"Promise me," he said, watching her carefully, "that you aren't gonna make me regret doing this."

Not for the first time, that pretty smile faltered, and for the most fleeting of moments, he saw clearly her weakness, a cold, empty vulnerability that could break the heart. A shiver went straight through him, sudden and unwelcome.

"No promises," were the words on her lips, whispering quietly past that paper-thin smile.

_No promises_. He'd said that to himself, once upon. Seemed a promise in and of itself, by his way of thinking, and he cursed himself a coward and a fool as he gave in to one last look at DG before walking away. He didn't waste as much on the witch, Glinneth. It was to her he turned his back, obeying her command for the girl's sake only.

His boots echoed angrily off the high ceiling as he descended the stairs. The sunslight streaming in through the tall windows near blinded him, and he tipped his hat down against the glare. As he reached the last few steps down from the landing, he caught a glimpse of DG watching him, leaning out over the balcony. Her sketchbook lay forgotten to one side on the balustrade. She was a vision above him, dark hair framing her sad face, but a vision lasts only seconds before it slips away, and the moment was no different than all the others of his lifetime, quietly passing away. What else could he offer, so far below?

Nothing.

He lowered his head and walked from the hall. No distance they'd travelled in all the time they'd known each other compared to the long, weary path to the door. The sand under his feet scoured the chipped tile and crumbling grout. The gap-toothed floor was streaked and dirty, illusion gone. Whatever sense had belonged to the tiles laid out on the floor had long since been abandoned to age and decay. Without magic, there was no beauty.

He expected her to call after him; she didn't. There was nothing but the final, hollow scrape of wood on wood as he closed the doors behind him.

Sitting on the edge of the broken fountain, Glitch was waiting for him. The creases of worry in his forehead were deep, and the knit of his dark brows had a look of permanence to it. The courtyard had gone completely silent, and the wind had died; not a ripple in the long grass. For all it mattered, the world had come to a stop.

"I don't like this," Glitch muttered as Cain approached. "What's going on in there?"

"DG's getting her audience. The whole damned reason we're out here."

Glitch's eyes widened as he looked at the doors Cain had just closed. He let out a low whistle. "You left DG in there alone?"

"Not much say in the matter," Cain said, gritting his teeth against the distinct feeling of helplessness that had settled in his chest, something he hadn't experienced since – well, since the suit, if truth be told. He'd done a great deal in the months following his release to keep in control of what went on about him, but now the sense of security he'd built up around himself had turned into little more than a hollow shell, resembling so much his iron prison that he was hard-pressed to keep himself from pacing just to prove to himself he could still move at all.

Glitch, thankfully, was oblivious to Cain's inner turmoil, and was quite caught up in his own. "She needs to do this on her own," he muttered, shaking his head at the absurdity. "Why, _why_ do they always have to do this kind of stuff on their own? Is there some unwritten rule that says –"

Cain cut him off. "You wanna go in there and try help, go right ahead." To his surprise, his friend looked to be considering it. However, better weighing the odds and thinking of any and every outcome did not change the fact that Glitch had no more of a place at DG's side in this than Cain himself did.

Silence settled then, heavy and unwelcome. Nothing in the courtyard stirred; the world, it seemed, was in no hurry to keep on turning. Raw soon joined them, muttering about the disquietude of the horses, if not in so many words. Raw himself seemed agitated to the point of skittishness, and while he sat stone still, his eyes roamed restlessly, always returning to the entrance to the palace. No questions came from him; Raw was never one to look to others for answers, but Cain couldn't quite decide if the Viewer didn't _need_ them or didn't _want _them.

To be honest, Cain was close to encroaching on the Viewer's unspoken boundaries. Only DG had ever been able to wheedle insights and answers out of Raw when the need arose; since they'd been on the road together once again, Cain had put it upon himself never to strain his companion with undue interest, but his control over his own tongue was wearing damn thin. In his life before the suit and after, he'd often wondered at the burden borne by Viewers across the Outer Zone and in the lands beyond. He'd encountered few before Raw, as the empaths tended to shy away from human settlements, Central City specially. Cain could only assume that Raw was the only Viewer who'd ever entered the city willingly. The natural magic of his race had never incited curiosity in Cain, and, ever cautious, he'd been wary of even Raw's gifts, though the healer had saved his life more than once.

And now – _now_, slinking in a slice of shade, hidden from the scorching suns, surrounded by nothing but crumbled stone and dry dust, _now_ he was about ready to put all his reservations behind him and ask Raw if he knew anything, could feel anything, _anything_ that was going on inside that damned, wasted palace. It was only the abject misery on his friend's leonine face stopped him short.

So he waited. Waited, and watched; watched the doors, warped and rusted, watched the courtyard, the clumps of weeds growing through the flagstones, watched through the archway, knee-high sea of sun-crisped grass and the mountains in the distance. Movement caught his eye out there on the plain, but it was only the mutt, nose ever to the ground as he searched for something he was not like to find. Keeping a safe distance, it seemed to Cain.

After a while, with more than half of an hour since he'd left DG behind him, the wind began to pick up. It came up from the north, at first a breeze finding its way into the courtyard, so strong and sudden that it pulled Cain sharply from his reverie; he looked up, around. Nothing had changed, but for the bow and sway of the thick-stalked weeds that grew in and about the fountain. No one else sat up to take notice. Raw, lost in thought, was unstirred by the wind. Glitch kept on sorting through the broken tiles at the base of the fountain, pocketing some with exclamations of delight.

But the dog –

In the middle of the archway, Toto sat on his haunches, still as stone, the wind ruffling his ears and fur. Just when he'd decided to plop himself down there, Cain hadn't noticed. The mutt's nose was high in the air, stretching up to the point where his forepaws were just about off the ground, as if there was something more on that wind gusting from the north, more than just suns and sand and sweat.

It wasn't long before the others took notice of the shift from the early afternoon calm of only moments before. It was Raw who looked up first, his eyes seeking out the dog, who'd begun to pace restlessly in the archway, snout ever in the air as the wind refused to let up. Even Glitch was disturbed when the dust began to fly, clouds of it sending him jumping nimbly to his feet, brushing his hands off on his trousers.

"What in Glinda's name –" But that was as far as he got before pursing his lips shut; the thin, grim line of his mouth so tight that he looked to be clamping down on his tongue with his teeth. His eyes went to the great wooden doors, which rattled on their hinges as another gust hit them.

Throughout their days here, all had grown accustomed to the bluster of the strong crosswinds atop the cliffs, the high walls of the crumbling ruin providing them with shelter, but always the low howl of it as it carved away at the rock face below. The calm, the silence that had fallen upon the courtyard since DG had gone in was unnerving, but this – there were no words, Cain found; he watched quietly as his formerly headcased friend stammered for an explanation as the sky began to darken, as the afternoon blue was overtaken by roiling, round-bellied clouds, shades of deep purple that Cain himself had never seen. Storm clouds; like ink upended into still water, the clouds above swirled low, blotting out the suns, as the wind blew ever fiercer. The sudden chill was no sweet respite from the day's heat as they were again blasted by a gust from the north.

Cain raised an arm in a vain attempt to shield his eyes from the blowing grit, sand and plaster dust and fine slivers of dead grass carried in from the plain, stinging his cheeks and hands. He turned his back to the relentless wind, bracing himself against the push that would have him hurtling toward the doors of the palace, which shivered so strongly now that he had to wonder if the rusted bolts would hold.

Someone shouted his name, then more words that he couldn't make out over the deafening roar that was filling his ears, the power and the fury of the sudden storm tossing every other thought and worry – well, to the wind. All that concerned him was safety, his and theirs and _hers. _

The doors gave another violent shudder. _Damn it_, was there any other choice? The dust kicked up around him again, swollen bursts of it for him to close his mouth against. He whistled once, high and quick and shrill, and he caught the attention of the others long enough to sweep an arm towards those rotted, rusted doors. They needed to get to DG –

He grit his teeth at the thought of her, and tasted nothing but sand.

Another hard blast of northern wind was at his back, urging him faster than his feet were wont to go. Glitch was ahead of him, his hand was around the iron handle, he wrenched back even as the wind forced him forward into the door. The doors would not budge, but for the rattle as Glitch's weight was thrown against them.

Cain growled to himself, leaning against the wall where the wind had pressed him. He'd reached up a hand to anchor his hat to his head, his raised arm shielding his face from the worst of the dust. There was no calm between gusts, no breath of relief. On the other side of the doors, Raw huddled, protecting his head with his arms. Dead grass was caught all through his long hair, and in the matted furs that made up his clothing.

And the dog –

He didn't know where the mutt had gotten to. The flurry of dust all but blinded him. All he knew was that the dog was not with them at the doors, nowhere near his feet, or those of the others. Another damned thing to –

He thought he heard his name again, called out somewhere beyond the rush of the wind. He looked up.

There'd been few occasions in Wyatt Cain's life that had given him cause to doubt. He'd known fear, and he'd known it well, and he knew, too, the courage that had tempered that fear into a knowing; an assurance deep within himself that there was nothing in his world he could not overcome. Now, he wasn't about to argue that there hadn't been far-between instances where that confidence in himself, that knowledge of fear and the strength it took to continue on regardless, had almost abandoned him, _had_ abandoned him. He'd known eight long annuals of doubt more crippling than fear, colder, harder, emptier.

And now, he knew more than doubt. He knew regret, sharp and sudden in the back of his throat, worse than the dust coating his tongue, the sand between his teeth. As he swallowed it whole, that regret so reminiscent of another day, place, another life, a different woman.

_No promises_, she'd told him. He sure as hell hoped she knew what she was doing.

It was then that the wind began to die away, so abruptly that Cain half expected something else to happen then, though what exactly it was he couldn't say, didn't want to even _think_ about what else could possibly follow that storm. He was slow in standing straight once more, slower in pushing himself away from the wall. He looked around the courtyard. The air was still thick with dust, but even as he looked up, the clouds parted, began to dissipate until he was staring at a clear blue ceiling, the suns beating down upon his face as if nothing had blown through at all.

There was a loud crack as the force holding the doors closed released, and Glitch stumbled head-first into the hall. Cain could hear his shoes scrambling for traction on the sand-covered tiled floor. His voice bounced off the high walls. "DG! Where are you? DG!"

Cain coughed, then spat, trying to clear his mouth and throat. Glitch's voice became quieter, echoing through the open door.

"Gone," Raw muttered, shaking dirt and grass from his hair. When he glanced up at Cain, his cheeks were streaked with grime and tears. He said it again, fainter; he stood in the doorway, looking into the dark hall, but refused to go in.

And the dog –

Sitting once more in the archway, dusty and small, the damn dog threw his head back and began to howl.


	30. For Those Left Behind

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

* * *

_When Last We Met: From Central City to Finaqua, to the Midlings of the East, sent south, beyond Finaqua, beyond the mountains, to the southern tip of the Outer Zone, Cain and his companions had followed DG. Power and promise, however, never come without a price.  
_

* * *

**Chapter Thirty: For Those Left Behind**

DG was gone.

It was Raw who confirmed it, little to Cain's surprise, though, if the truth be known to none other than himself, the entirety of the situation had his mind reeling in ways that left him without legible thought or coherent speech. Words had all but abandoned him. Of course, Raw's deceptively simple, utterly cryptic clues fell on deaf ears as Cain was able to finally rouse himself into action, helping Glitch search for DG through each cold, ruined room.

An empty hope, effort spent in vain. The Viewer had the truth of it. Cain's own eyes struggled with what heartsight knew all along. The girl had vanished.

Within the palace, sections of the great hall's high domed ceiling had collapsed, shafts of sunslight spilling in, thick with dancing dust. The falling rubble had smashed the floor mosaic into so many jagged, red pieces. Sand had blown into drifts, burying the first two steps at the far end of the hall. The upstairs had fared much worse, Cain found, frowning as he nudged the toe of his boot against an iron grate, the intricately-wrought scrollwork spotted with rust. Scattered across the balcony, splintered beams, broken brick, and clay roof tiles, more sunslight creeping in through gaping holes above, more dust motes swirling on a wayward draft.

There was no sign of the girl, not until Cain had walked the long length of the upstairs balcony to stand before their doom. Gone back to the way they'd found it, the painting was no more than a mottle of mouldy plaster, the dull glaze webbed with hairline cracks. At the base of the wall, he found DG's sketchbook, half-hidden among the debris. Taking it by the spine, he shook the pages free of sand, brushing a hand over the soft blue cover, over the marks she'd left with ink and lead.

When Glitch saw Cain coming down the stairs with the book in hand, his face paled. "I didn't know she had that with her."

"She doesn't, it's right here. Might be that she dropped it."

Glitch closed his eyes, shook his head. "When, during that storm? Then by rights it should be long gone with her. I didn't see it when I was up there."

Cain handed the book over, wearied by the very sight of it. He'd nearly passed by it himself, his eyes too busy staring a fiery hole into the wasted painting – the painting that was not a painting, he'd been reminding himself when he'd finally torn his eyes away and caught a glimpse of blue among the sand and brick.

"_Where_," Glitch muttered, mostly to himself. He fingered a worn corner of the sketchbook's cover. "Raw hasn't said –"

"Gone," was all Cain repeated, just plain sick of the word by then.

"Gone where, _where _has she been whisked off to?"

Cain sighed. He thought of the red witch, her dark eyes and faded gown. "Where's she been sent is more like. That old hag is still here somewhere." He paused then, waiting for the rest of the roof to fall in on his head in retribution. The moment passed with Glitch turning the book over in his hands, fanning through the pages with his thumb. He didn't open it, and the roof didn't cave in. Suddenly done with the doubt and destruction, Cain turned on his heel and strode from the hall, hungry for a bit of fresh air.

Glitch called out after him, the ringing echoes chasing after Cain as he ducked out the doors. The dry heat of the late afternoon hit him like a wall, and his first breath of in the courtyard tasted of dust, settling heavy upon his tongue. He pulled the brim of his hat down lower, glad to shield his eyes against the suns. From his refuge beneath the wall, Raw glanced up and solemnly nodded a greeting.

"Not there," said the Viewer. Cain's jaw hardened against a response, and wondered if he'd ever rid his mouth of sand, grains cracking and foreign between his clenched teeth. He was just about done with this cursed place – knowing, all the while, that it had yet to become gods'-forsaken. That knowledge wormed its way deep inside of him, took root inside, and a quiet oath formed upon his lips, never to be uttered. Raw's eyes were on him, words unspoken still heard by the tender heart of a friend who knew, a friend as hurting and confused as he was.

Cain tucked his thumbs into his belt, eyes on the sky. A vast expanse of purest blue, another reminder of what – _who_ – was so suddenly missing from their lives. Only to the north were there strings of pale grey clouds to mar the illusion of perfection, gathering over the mountains to beckon them away from suns and scorching wind here at the end of the world. He knew then, watching those harbinger clouds, that there was little use in staying. When the suns set –

Glitch walked out the doors then, waving DG's sketchbook in front of him. "Have you taken a look-see at this?"

Turning his attention back to the long road home, Cain gave a non-committal shrug. "Not since Finaqua." No, he hadn't opened the book, studied the pages. She'd kept it close over the long days and cold nights they'd spent on the road. He'd caught a glimpse, once or twice, and there'd been the rare occasion that she'd shown him one sketch or another, one she'd been proud of, perhaps, or one that had brought that sad, wistful twist to her lips that had come to settle there so often as her resolve had taken hold so strongly. He remembered pages upon pages of her mother, pencil-drawn or blotted with blue ink, studies she'd been doing long before he'd left Central City, when Lavender was still hale, hearty; days, he reminded himself, when DG would spend her sunlit hours at her mother's side, and would seek him out come nightfall, to curl up in the quiet comfort of his company.

How many books had she filled in the months after he'd left her in the city, he wondered, and how many nights had she spent alone with only the comfort of her pencils as her father kept his distance, as she watched her sister struggle and her mother waste away.

The book that he'd found half-buried in sand was the book he'd all but ordered her to bring from Central City when they'd left for Finaqua. He'd hoped – however foolishly – that having her supplies with her would bolster her jaded spirits. Dutifully, she'd pulled the book out every night as the stars began to appear, drawing at the fireside until her head had grown heavy.

He thought then of the nights she'd pulled herself from her bedroll and tucked herself against his side, thinking herself safe in the quiet comfort of his company, whether lakeside or forest or crumbling courtyard. He closed his eyes against it, those memories that held no semblance of easement, then gave his head a shake, as if the thought of those simple, silent hours could be shed so quickly.

The only comfort he was able to draw was from the waiting. To the others, the hours of sunlight that lasted into the early evening were some of the hardest they'd faced on the journey, and it certainly took no length of imagination to know the uneasiness that had fallen upon each and every beating heart among them. But to him – and there was no pride in admitting it – there was an undeniable calm, as everything about him ground to a standstill. Whatever callous significance it held, he didn't dwell upon it – and he wasn't about to sit through the scathing psychoanalysis of a bored and agitated Glitch – though he couldn't rightly say anyone was about to take notice of his tenuous ease.

Hours passed, and the suns began their slow descent into the west. The sky turned a pale rose, the clouds gathering to the north ablaze with the deeper reds that Cain remembered from – truly, had it only been a single day? The thoughts of the girl crept up on him again, the two of them alone in the gloom of the dusk-fallen ruins, a fitful embrace and a soft, fleeting kiss.

"_Home,"_ she'd whispered into his chest, _"please, Wyatt, take me home." _

It was hardly a leap of faith to assume her wish had been granted, words spoken before none but him. How foolish of him, of them both, to stand within that long-forgotten hall and lay out their hearts so openly. Under the stars, he'd taken her into his arms again, tasted her kiss, but by morning she'd already started to drift away from him, from everyone. DG had spent her last reserves of determination searching and questioning. Only then had the sorceress of the south made herself known, well veiling her intent as illusively as she'd veiled herself.

"_This story is one told before,"_ the witch had said. _"You know the way of it."_

The way of it. He'd been wilfully blind, ever helpless, no more than a guide, or an assurance of safety. They all were, in their own ways, shields against what the world might throw at a girl so singular as DG. The way of it, all told before; once upon a time... now how did that go again? He'd said the words himself, told the story to her as she'd pressed herself so innocently to his side, the lights of the Midling village mere pinpricks glimpsed at through the trees the night Bluesire had sent them searching south.

"_With nowhere left to turn, the little girl went looking for the help of the last witch... and she sent the little girl home." _

DG had all but begged him for the story, and he'd summoned it out of the dregs of his memory, a dusty relic of a life that had been out of his grasp too long. He'd seen a hundred reproductions of the tale in his life, paintings and street theatres and paper copies in tiny print. The night he'd arrived back in Central City, the room where Glitch had conferred each dark and dangerous truth had spread the tale along all four walls, ribbons of yellow gold stretching over patchwork hills and a city of gleaming, emerald towers.

Central City.

How many weeks had it been since he'd awoken in his own bed, his home that smelled of wood-smoke and new-cut lumber. He'd watched the suns come up on the dock, the creek making its sluggish way beneath his feet. He remembered the worry in the eyes of the messenger who'd come riding up his road, a boy younger than Jeb and uncertain of his commission. A single letter, and Cain had left his solitude behind for friends who'd wanted him – needed him. He'd found Central City less than welcoming though, a regent fading, a young queen struggling for redemption, and a little princess watching helplessly as everything she'd fought for began to fall apart.

Was it any wonder she'd undertaken this task her sister had set her to? The long shot, the last and only hope.

Lavender had warned him; he'd stood before her in Central City and promised to keep DG safe should they need flee to Finaqua. Hide the girl from those who would attempt to put her on the throne, and separate her from her mother, to stop the girl's power from falling victim to the whims of her emotions. It'd seemed so easy. Easier, certainly, than facing DG and her reproachful, sky-coloured eyes again after so long. The chilly reception she'd given him was all too sharp and clear a memory. She'd tried convincing him she didn't want him, didn't need him, but the days had passed and the weight of her burdens had worn her down as he'd quietly remained at her side.

South they'd gone together, surrounded by the friends they trusted most, south then north then south again. Further and further, as south as south goes. Five strong, they'd faced Papay, the guild-fighters of the Midlings, the resistance in Ammenium, and the near week-long journey through the summer passes of the Ruby Mountains; all the while, the voice of his conscience had become the voice of the dreaming Lavender, still lingering somewhere in between.

"_She cannot go back."_

* * *

Dusk crept across the world as the second sun slowly slipped beneath the western horizon. Beyond the walls of the courtyard, breathing in the cool air of the grassy plain, Cain watched the last vestiges of the sun flicker and vanish into the shadow-taken west.

The hours had dragged on, and finally, finally it was time to leave the wretched place behind. Their horses were rested, the heat of the afternoon had dissipated, and a soft, cool breeze whispered through the sea of grass in which Cain stood solitary, waiting for the others to finish with their preparations. He'd become so accustomed to the sounds of this place, the grass and the winds and the insects. Foreign to him, or so it seemed, was the sound of approaching footsteps. There was nothing to fear, no, and he didn't not turn around.

"Raw's gotten a glimpse, or thinks he has," the old man said, voice thick and slow with exhaustion. It seemed to Cain that he'd aged a good ten annuals since DG's disappearance. "A little house, broken windows. A barn, and a swing."

Cain didn't need any more explanation than that. "She slipped over."

"It does seem that way. I don't think we'll be finding any answers here."

Sighing, he could feel the old man's eyes heavy on him, the man who'd once guided, betrayed, and saved them all. Lavender's emerald-haunted goose chase, DG dead set upon a plan gone wrong from the start. And now, in the aftermath of another fool endeavour, the girl once again hopelessly beyond his grasp, Cain turned to face the man DG called Tutor only to find him holding her sketchbook, offering it up before he could say a word otherwise.

"I suggest we go looking in Central City," Tutor said. He harboured no doubt in this, that much was clear. Again, he offered the sketchbook.

As the light faded and the twilight began to steal across the plain, covering the suns-parched grass in a mantle of endless grey, Cain took the book in hand. He touched the soft blue cover, running a thumb over where DG had scrawled her name.

The old teacher had no patience for his reticence. "The last few pages, Mr. Cain, if you please."

His heart was hesitant, but his hands were curious; silently he cursed himself, even as he leafed through to the back of the sketchbook, but he found nothing more than he'd expected to find. Portraits and studies and half-finished sketches, all of Lavender. But even in the blue gloom of evening, it was easy to see the change that had come over DG's chosen subject, where hope and despair had kindled inside the princess to try piece together a happier ending from the sad, broken shards she'd been left with. The face of her mother, lovingly constructed from a lonely memory half a kingdom away; a face that so resembled her own, softened and smiling, content, _awake_. Pale, unshaded eyes, seeing eyes.

Cain closed the book without a word. Those waking eyes, empty and colourless as they were, burned into him. One more failed woman, to add to all the rest. Mother, sister, wife, kid, queen...

She'd warned him, she'd known, and yet –

He turned his gaze north. The dark clouds he'd seen forming over the mountains during the afternoon had turned the sky a deep and unforgiving black, hearkening their return with all the darkness due tidings such as theirs.

_Storm's coming,_ he thought bitterly.

Wasn't that always the way?

* * *

**Author's Note: **I haven't left many of these, have I? First, a great big thank you and much love to all my readers, as always. I hope it won't disappoint anyone to know this story will soon reach it's end. No fear! A short sequel, or "extended epilogue" will follow. But first - Cain and Tutor deserve some answers, don't you think?


	31. The Ballad of Sweet Jane St Clair

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

* * *

****_When Last We Met: South as south goes, DG followed the road with friends ever behind, searching for Glinneth, once the highest power in the Outer Zone, with little more than an old story and her hope to guide her. To find the sorceress, to ask her help in saving her mother's life had been her only goal - and after meeting with the witch, without a goodbye, the princess slips over to the Other Side. With no answers in the south, Cain, Glitch, and Raw follow Tutor northward once more, to see what changes DG's disappearance has wrought. _

* * *

**Chapter Thirty One: The Ballad of Sweet Jane St. Clair**

Five days.

Five days of overcast skies and soft, pelting rain. No glimpse of the blues of heaven, no reminders of DG and those honest eyes she'd so often turned on him with quiet expectation. He didn't so much mind the rain, the endless grey days, for the more he pushed himself into physical misery, the less apt he was to fall into the mire that was his own turmoil, locked up somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind. His heart knew this song by rote and remained untouched, no taint of emotion to sully his head with futile musing.

There were times when the rain would stop, times when a break in the clouds would let the suns spill out onto the mountain roads, dappling their path with light. However short-lived, the reprieve did more to brighten the spirits of his companions than any reassuring word could. That was just as well, and Cain welcomed it, for he had no comfort to offer. Encouraging, that had been DG. Without her, the suns were a pale substitute.

Those moments, however, were few and far between. The suns were shy, and the clouds were selfish. Hour upon hour, mile upon mile. Rain and road, road and rain.

He pushed them as fast and far as he dared, rising with the suns every morning eager to put as much distance between himself and the ruin he'd left behind. There was little complaint from his companions. Raw kept himself distracted with a constant reach toward the girl, his heart searching the voids between for signs of her light, as furtive as the suns that played their games with the grey-belly clouds. There was a comfort to be found in the Viewer's soft words, rare as they were. "Safe," he reassured them each night, when they'd gather by the fire to share what remained of their meagre stores. "DG is safe."

Safer, Cain wondered, than she'd been all along, as they'd ridden and hidden under the guise and pretence of her well-being. Murmurs of disquiet, of resistance had chased them from the city. The threat of DG's own light under her duress had kept them away. Her grieving for a mother not yet dead, a woman who'd abandoned her twice, had grown to something with teeth to consume her. She'd attached herself to the faint promise of help, of a way to make things right, anything to run from the gnawing ache in her soul that was eating her alive.

It was hard to quell his thoughts, to quiet his questioning. Answers would not come from the wind through the trees, nor come falling down from the sky. All he knew of the world around him was the cold and the damp and the endless patter of rain. And this, he found, could most often be enough – enough to feel, enough to know, enough to stop from dogging himself, enough to stop from asking _why. _

As ever, he focused on the task at hand; after all, he knew no other way. Intent on reaching the tumultuous waters of Central City, wondering all the while what repercussions DG's stone drop would have on a world that hadn't seem to know she'd gone missing in the first place.

It was these thoughts, practical, logical, though worrisome as they were, that followed Cain to sleep every night, rain lulling him into the comforting arms of dreamless slumber. Black nights, empty nights, and in his waking hours, his focus would renew, knowing he was that much closer to the end of this road, and whatever answers lie there in wait.

The road through the mountains bore them as easily and effortlessly as it had their way south, twisting through wood and vale, among great boulders and gnarled trees as old as Glinneth herself, snaking along bare ridges and winding into wet, marshy thickets that never saw the suns. Too often, something familiar would catch his eye, small open fields bursting with summer colour or stretches of road that tunnelled beneath the reaching boughs and vast, rustling canopy. Less often, but still enough as to unsettle him, he'd see traces of their journey south, a felled tree or the lonely remains of a campfire, and he'd curse himself for carelessness.

Still, aside from the lingering of their presence, he saw no other disturbances. Proof, at least, that no one had attempted to follow their trail south. There was little comfort to be found in the fact.

There was little comfort to be found anywhere.

Without DG, the days dragged on silently. Five of them, long and wet and grey. Single file they rode, with the dog bounding ever ahead. It crossed Cain's mind to start calling him _Scout_, but the musing was short-lived, though the smirk it brought to his lips was rare and near surprised him as it tugged at the corners of his mouth. His features were stiff from scowling.

There'd been the passing occasion, twice or thrice, that Glitch had tried to bring him out of his brooding. An offer, once, to regale their group with the ballad of sweet Jane St. Claire. It had been on the tip of Cain's tongue to threaten him with bodily harm, but in the end, he'd just grit his teeth and listened to his friend warble away, knowing with absolute certainty that his heart was not the only one in need of lightening.

Poor, bitter Jane St. Clair.

* * *

The fifth night finally saw them coming through the forested foothills that made up the southern rim of the Qualdin Basin, familiar territory, a proper place with a proper name stencilled in on the ragged map still tucked away somewhere in Glitch's vest pockets.

In the late afternoon, they'd stopped to eat and rest, during those strange, shadowy hours that skirted the dusk. It was the only time Cain was willing to risk a fire. After, they'd ridden until dark, making a dry camp off the road among the creeping, twisted roots that wove across the floor of the old growth forest. Closer to Finaqua than he'd have liked, but a few hours after the dawn would put the palace behind them.

Central City, less than two days away.

Too tense to sleep, Cain took the first watch. He sat further up the incline from the others, his back against an ancient, bent-backed spruce tree. The fanning, crooked branches, beginning just beyond his reach, sheltered him from the spitting rain. The ground below him was dry, and cushioned with annuals of fallen needles. With one leg stretched out before him, the other crooked up to rest an arm upon his knee, the quiet, scattered song of the rain settling him, he could almost have said that he'd felt his own little bit of peace. It took him a little aback, that moment of ease, those deep, steady breaths, the taste of the loamy, damp night on his tongue. Somewhere in his memory, close and clinging, was the taste of old iron, and despite himself, he shivered.

For close to an hour after the others had gone quiet and still, he sat unmoving, listening to the rain, the ragged beat here at the heart of the forest. His eyes had just closed when his ears perked at a rustle in the undergrowth – but he settled back just as quickly as the movements in the darkness made themselves familiar, that distinct shuffle and snort of the mutt making his way back to camp.

Cain growled with annoyance, half expecting the dog to trot right past him as he had every other night on this return journey, and for so many before. But he found himself surprised, and quite unpleasantly, to hear the pad of paws come to a standstill a little too close, and even more unpleasantly, to next hear the uncomfortable and all together unwelcome sound of the old man making his appearance.

With a groan, he sat himself near Cain, cradled at the base of another sentinel pine. A great deal of noise followed as he situated himself comfortably, for which he gave an audible sigh of contentment when he was through. Then, as easily as if they'd been sitting down to supper, he said, "Good evening, Mr. Cain."

"Evening."

"The sky's clear."

The sky was overcast and dark, an absolute, inky black that knew no beginning and no end. "Sure is." A silence fell then, an emptiness between raindrops that stretched on too long.

Cain thought of, couldn't help but think of DG, the simplicity, the peace she brought to him when she'd fit herself against him. Blacker than the sky, that thought, but there was no banishing it from his mind. Once settled there, as surely as she herself had, the thought of her burrowed its way in deep, took over.

Damn it, he _missed_ her.

If the old man had any clue how he'd set Cain's mind to squirming, he let it pass. "I thought you were heading for Finaqua."

"No need. Not without DG."

"I wouldn't have said no to a bed tonight," said Tutor, amusement clear in his voice.

Cain had already debated this with himself. It left him short-tempered to repeat it. "It's a two-day stop we don't need to be making. We can be in Central City day after tomorrow."

"The lights are bright in Finaqua this evening."

That gave Cain pause. "Went for a walk, did you."

"I had thought to hurry ahead to wait, but apparently there are those who prefer to sleep on the wet ground," the teacher said, and sighed. "The woods are full of such tonight."

"Resistance?"

"Royal army. A dozen or so, by my count."

Sighing, Cain closed his eyes once more, though in the depth of night's gloom, it mattered little. The emptiness behind his eyelids was no less in its entirety, and no more assuring.

A contingent of the Queen's army stationed, at least for the moment, in Finaqua. There were few reasons Cain could conjure up that would have Azkadellia sending soldiers to chase them down, none at all that could be considered by any means warm or fuzzy. With DG's sudden misplacement...

Thinking of the girl then, there in that dark, old wood, Cain's mind lingered on the range between plain bad and utterly catastrophic when it came to these women and their kingdom. He'd warned DG against rushing to Central City on their last night together, when he'd kissed her quiet under the watchful stars. Since she'd up and vanished, his previous argument – however much it'd been for her sake, and hers alone – had carried little weight in his mind. In fact, it may have been that he'd forgotten – or ignored – it from the out, his only thought reaching the city and the answers the old man was certain were there.

_Hypocrite_. She'd called him that once, straight to his face. Angry at him for questioning her the night the mutt had planted the seed of an idea in her head, growing like vines to thread through her mind, taking hold of all of them, tangling them in her fervour. He'd snapped right back, near made her _cry_, but it hadn't made him any less wrong. He _was_ as she'd branded him, and nothing had changed, not in all the weeks he'd followed dutifully while she chased her last hope.

"What should we do?"

It was a long moment before Cain realised the words had been directed at him, that his opinion was being asked because he hadn't _said_ anything yet. _Royal army, dozen or so._

Right.

"We keep heading for Central," Cain said, as if he were sure this was the right course of action. What else was there to do but keep walking the road? "If they're looking for us, they'll catch up with us before we hit the junction."

"Oh, you can be sure they're looking for us," said Tutor, dry and grim.

Cain didn't say anything after that. Instead, he just took off his hat, and turned his face up toward the branches that sheltered him, and the night sky that covered them so completely. Well. Despite it all, it was nice to be sure about something.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Short chapter, but I wasn't kidding when I said I was done with the travelling. Thank you once again to my readers, and an extra helping of gratitude to those who take the time to review, which is ever the encouragement I need to pull me out of my slumps. Love to everyone who has stuck with me this long.


	32. To Return Without

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

* * *

_When Last We Met: The long journey is almost over - though it is no triumphant return. Without DG, Cain and his companions make for Central City with too many questions and very few answers. More confusing, the small contingent of the Queen's royal army waiting in the woods. It seems they are expected._

* * *

**Chapter Thirty Two: To Return Without**

"I don't mean to alarm anyone, but I think we're being followed."

The declaration had come from Glitch, out of nowhere and in the calmest of voices.

Cain rolled his eyes, not bothering to turn in his saddle. The road ahead was clear, and there was nothing but empty forest behind. They'd left their camp just before dawn, when the world was still trapped in the deepest greys of night's last vestige. There'd been no white line on the horizon to follow, not in these near impenetrable woods, when there was little to see around the next bend in the road but more gnarled trees and moss-covered boulders.

Lots of bends, lots of trees. No sign of another soul.

Another fifty paces, and Glitch spoke up again.

"I really do think – yes, I'm almost positive. We're being followed."

No other response came. Cain glanced back at Raw, who merely shrugged his shoulders.

It was half of an hour – a very long half-hour in which Glitch muttered and hinted and twitched – before Cain finally doubled back to ride beside his friend. His eyes scanned the road behind them, but there was nothing and no one to be seen. The woods were as quiet as they'd been the entire journey back, eerie and ancient, watching, waiting. It wasn't the trees he had to worry about, however, only a very agitated friend.

"I haven't seen or heard nothing since –"

"The sentinel pine. First tier of branches, close to the trunk."

Gripping the reins tight in his hand, Cain closed his eyes and counted slowly to three before answering. "You think someone's up in that –"

"I don't think," Glitch said matter-of-factly, looking down his nose at Cain, "and I'm not imagining him. He's been following us since we started this morning. He was watching me when I woke up."

"It was pitch black when you woke up."

Glitch waved him off. "I _heard_ him fluttering around. I got a good glimpse once the suns were up. Don't know who he thinks he's fooling, he's not even an indigenous species." He smirked, laughing breathily, almost soundlessly, as he shook his head.

It took a good long minute of disbelief and internal cursing before Cain decided to just let it be. He wasn't about to go around digging for explanations he didn't need. Not when the answers he truly wanted were still farther north in Central City, still a considerable distance away. If all was to be believed, there were royal army soldiers between himself and the gorge. He pushed the thought of the Papay fields between the gorge and Central City far from his mind. One damn problem at a time.

Quietly, and very much aware of the eyes Glitch said were watching, the group pressed on.

There'd been no break in the dismal weather by mid-morning, when they reached the Finaqua junction. There was nothing to mark the crossroad, no signs to point the way. Cain knew that half a span of following the crooked road south and west and the wooded hills would carry them to the maze, and beyond that the palace. The southeast road that had taken them to the edge of the world and back again finally met with the northbound Brick Route (though there was little enough physical evidence of anything remotely resembling a paved road here).

It was here at this lonely place that they found their pursuers – or their pursuers found them, as it rightly seemed. Four mounted men, uniformed in grey and green. Young men, for surely they were merely resistance fighters of the Emerald War. Whether it was true faith in Lavender's reconstruction that had bound them in service after their victory at the tower, or they were just too loyal or fresh or cowardly to join the New Resistance to keep fighting against Azkadellia, their turncoat queen, these young soldiers had been fighting for most of their lives.

And at their head was Jeb Cain, smirking at the sight of his father – but as the moments passed into minutes and the forest around them gave up no princess, the smirk disappeared and every carefully-constructed mask his son possessed could not hide his confoundment.

"Captain, sir," his son said uneasily, his eyes flicking from one face to another.

Cain grit his teeth. Damn it, this was going to get uncomfortable.

"We were sent to find the princess and return with her to Central City. My scout reported that the princess was not with you – we were told that you – all, that _all _of you – were escorting DG; the, um, princess." The word fell a bit anticlimactically. The only sounds that followed were the voices of the forest, the breath of breeze that rustled the leaves, the patter of rain as it drizzled down. If the Queen's soldiers expected their princess to materialise out of thin air, if they expected some Gale trickery, Cain had no way of satisfy them – well, he had the truth, but that was no appeasement.

Instead, he cleared his throat, and drew all pairs of wary eyes to himself. "We were escorting DG. Now I think it best you escort us to Azkadellia."

"Where is the princess, sir?" his son the soldier asked.

"Safe, far as we know, and that's all we know." The sharp edge of his voice left no reason to question.

In the end, there was only one road for all of them, one very old road that had known their plight as it had known all the suffering and sacrifice of the land since the first bricks had been laid, centuries older than the oldest living memory. The road that had once led to the four powers of the Outer Zone, stretching and winding across north and east, west and south. To the very last brick, Cain had followed her, and beyond – for if the stories were true, the Brick Route led the way through the mountains and across the plain, buried by annuals of wind and rain and neglect.

It was somewhere along this road Cain had been reunited with his son during the last weeks of the war. The realisation hit him out of nowhere, and it hit him hard. Jeb rode by his side, silent. Ahead, the others rode in loose formation, the damp chill keeping them hunched in their saddles.

A glance at his son offered him no insights, but as he struggled with the where and the how, his son broke the ice. "You look like hell, Father."

A smile came on, unbidden. "Imagine I do."

"Last word we had of you was in Ammenium. Have you seen a washbasin since then?"

"Not a proper one, no. When were you in Ammenium?" Cain thought back to the sleepy little township, hidden deep in the lake country. The beaten trail that had passed for a road. DG, shouting at him in the rain, pressing herself into his arms, wanting more from him than –

"Three days ago. Heard you might have headed southeast past the Black Forest to Colibri. We were waiting for orders from Central when our scout saw you coming from the south."

"What's happening in Central that has Azkadellia chasing her sister down?" Cain asked.

"Central City has been quiet; there have been a few instances with the New Resistance, but mostly low key and out of the city. Public rallies, recruitments, dealt with by local law from what I hear," his son replied. "It's not the Queen that sent us, sir."

Abruptly, Cain turned his head to look at his son. "Who, then."

"The Queen's father, officially," Jeb said evasively, and then lowered his voice. "Rumours around Central palace are saying Lavender's on the mend. Heard it from the guard when I got into Central."

"Keeping it quiet. Waiting for DG."

His son only nodded.

Cain couldn't sort out how he felt about these revelations, and that bothered him more than he would admit aloud. That Lavender hadn't passed, that she was coming back from the brink and calling her girl home to her, it came as no surprise. DG had succeeded, and he supposed he should feel – _something, _but it was difficult to sift through the suspicion and question that had plagued his mind since he'd last seen DG, impossible to separate himself from his worry and doubt to do so.

A mother's fear, a sister's errand, a daughter's sacrifice.

_Darlin', what have you done? _

"Is something wrong, Father?"

Cain sighed. "Don't know, exactly." His son's concern made him wholly uncomfortable, and he tried his best to shake it off with empty diversions. "So, how'd you manage to finagle yourself this post?"

"I received a summons while I was in Morrow," his son said. "Messenger found me in the barracks, and I left for Central City. Things are tense between the Queen and her father."

That his son pointedly refused to call Azkadellia by her name was not lost on Cain; it had never been openly discussed between them, that the father's loyalty was to queen while the son's was to country. If not for DG, he'd never have had lay eyes on Central for the rest of his days, and would never have had it otherwise. He'd chosen his existence, his exile. And now, it seemed DG had done the same.

"Ahamo thought DG was in Finaqua," Cain said, shaking his head. It was no question. "Had no idea what Az sent her to do."

"That's where I came in. 'Send a Cain to find a Cain,' he said. He's none too happy with you. Watch yourself." Jeb's words of caution were not misplaced, though he stated only the blankly obvious. Was his son taking some sort of grim pleasure in the trouble that was settling so easily onto Wyatt's shoulders? Jeb was being punished for his father's failed judgements, pulled off assignment to find him and the princess whose shadow he was undoubtedly standing in.

"Sorry to see you get caught up in all this," Wyatt said, and meant it.

"I think I'd be a little less angry if you'd explain what you were doing, why you're all the way out here."

It took Cain a long moment to respond, his tongue heavy with words that couldn't be said, not here, not yet. "I will, once we're in Central. Got a feeling this isn't the end of the road."

"All right," his son said begrudgingly, casting a sidelong glance that was so reminiscent of the child Cain remembered, and so uncharacteristic of this young, iron-toughened soldier who rode beside him in his place. "But I need to know, where is DG? Do you know that much at least?"

"Raw says she's slipped over to the Other Side, and there's no doubting his insight when he gives it," Cain said. She was undeniably safe – rather, safe from the troubles of this world, safe in the conflict free life she'd been raised to believe was her own, but not safe from herself. There were no guardians waiting for her in Kansas to play at being a family and to tell her the pretty lies that would help her sleep at night. No, there was only the truth to keep her awake in the darkness, whispering away soft and bitter, her head brimming with guilt and tenacious hope.

"Will you go after her?"

The question startled him. He reined up abruptly. His son followed suit.

"Jeb."

Sharp hazel eyes watched him expectantly, eyes that held only truth set in a face that harboured no resentment, an honest face. Gods, but the kid looked like his mother, even as rain-and-mud spattered as – no, _especially _as he was. Cain tore his eyes away.

"I don't know."

Three words, as simple as it got. He had no answer, and wasn't about to pretend, but he hadn't seemed to faze his son in the slightest, either, despite his indecisiveness. The expression upon his son's face had yet to change, that same discerning gaze waiting for a more impressive response, for the son knew his father to be anything but irresolute. For good or ill, the course had always been chosen long before the steps were taken.

But Wyatt hadn't allowed himself to think beyond Central City, and Azkadellia. With the news that Lavender's dire situation had miraculously turned around just as DG had – done whatever she'd done, begged, cried, bargained, paid. What this meant for the Outer Zone, what it could mean for the young woman who sat so precariously on her throne, hers in name and by deed, Cain could only speculate – not that he cared to. He was returning to the city without the princess he'd sworn to protect, without the heir the resistance would plot to put in power.

He could never have foreseen returning without DG. Their days spent on the road together, the closer they'd grown, the nights in the dark and quiet with her warmth tucked against him. Her dark hair tangled between his fingers, the softness of her small, eager mouth under his.

_Oh, hell._

His son was still staring at him. The others had continued on, almost disappearing into the verdant foliage that crowded the roadside. Somewhere far ahead, the dog was barking up a storm. Here, on a secluded little stretch of road where the reaching boughs sheltered them from much of the rain, Cain sighed deep and settled his gaze on his son.

"I hadn't really thought on it yet," he said. "It may be that's what they want me to do. May not. May be that she doesn't want me to."

The corner of Jeb's mouth curled. "Is any of that going to stop you?"

Cain looked up the road. "Can't say."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Central City next chapter, my pretties. It seems my muse has been holding back a few surprises. This chapter was one of them. I hope it was a good surprise. Thank you to my readers and to my reviewers. A safe and happy holiday season to you and yours!


	33. Alta Torretta

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

* * *

_When Last We Met: More than a week after their encounter with Glinneth and DG's disappearance, Cain and the others arrive in Central City in the company of a small retinue of soldiers sent by Azkadellia to meet the group of travellers and bring them safely home. Now, Cain, Glitch, Raw, and Tutor must face those that they left behind in Central City, knowing that they had failed in the one thing they'd been entrusted to do - keep DG safe._

* * *

**Chapter Thirty Three: Alta Torretta**

Cain's first glimpse of Central City filled him with unease. The highest spires stood straight and tall against the darkening sky, at the very heart nestled the highest of all, the Central Palace, gleaming with a false golden light that beckoned to them, calling out that their journey was finally coming to an end.

There was no such hope in his heart; he could see it in his companions as the city neared, though it would be hours yet before they would ride through the city gates. But as the miles passed into a memory, as the road shrank behind them, Cain could feel the dread growing within him, more than simple uncertainty but something far more tangible, a heaviness in his chest and a lingering taste at the back of his throat, the unmistakable taste of burnished metals, of smoke and ash carried on the wind. Civilisation, in all its wild, wretched glory.

He'd been gone so long. Central City, to which all roads led. He'd run from, run toward, walked away, determined never to pass in the shadow of the walls again – and yet, at the first sign of trouble, the first call for help, he'd come back. Come back to a girl who didn't want him, didn't _want_ to want him. Charm and persuasion hadn't changed her mind, that was for damn sure. Perhaps in the end it'd been nothing that he'd done. In the end, she'd left; left her home and her family, left the duty-bound life she'd chafed under – left him at the edge of the world.

Full dark came upon them as they circled the city and approached from the north. Cain himself hadn't seen the suns in more than two days; even now, there wasn't a single break to be found in the cloud cover, no glimpse of moon or stars. The lights of the city, a hazy emerald glow against those dark clouds, reminding Cain of the tower and the eclipse. He shut his eyes against the memory, but when he opened them once more, the sickening green gloom had not lifted. He didn't know why he'd expected it to.

They stopped at a stable just north of the city, where a man had been promised an indecent sum of money to discreetly prepare for their arrival. For the first time since leaving his home by the creekside all those weeks ago, Cain found himself separated from his horse. He was unable to spend more than a few short minutes with her while their gear was being unloaded and stored away. He tucked DG's sketchbook into his duster, slipped a blurry-eyed stablehand a little money, and stepped outside to wait for the others. They'd continue to the city on foot.

Gods, how he hated the sight of those towers of slender grace and beauty. He couldn't tear his eyes away; exhausted as he was, he couldn't close them. The Central Palace, with her emerald-glass crown, where he might find – well, damned if he was even sure what he was looking for any more. Answers, perhaps, and little else.

He could not wait forever. Soon, the others were ready to leave.

Midnight saw them inside the gate. The city guard watched them silently. The night was slow, quiet; no cars on the streets, and only a few harried souls walking the pavement. But Central City held many secrets and the tall spires cast deep shadows upon the alleys and doorsteps, and the city's sleepy façade did little to calm Cain's heart.

Their winding trek through the streets was uneventful; they met no resistance, no voices speaking from darkened corridors, no echoing footsteps behind. Had he expected such troubles? When had his life not come to include such troubles? Had the annuals in the suit damaged him so, or had he just come to accept DG's knack for finding herself in the thick of things?

Their arrival in the city had no doubt been noticed. By whom, it didn't seem to matter. News would break, eventually, that the princess had vanished once more. Not dead, no, but gone all the same. Though inadvertent, perhaps DG had done just what had been needed to crush what momentum this resistance faction had gained. For what cause was it they fought for, if their princess champion had disappeared?

Eyes would see, and ears would hear. Azkadellia was queen, unchallenged.

These were Cain's thoughts as finally, the great stone arches and ivy-hidden walls that surrounded the palace grounds came into view.

Once upon a time, he'd been frustrated, consumed by his own pride and anger; once upon a time, he'd walked these streets alone, only to catch a shadowy glimpse as a princess escaped her tower prison. He knew now he would see no such vision, but still he looked for her.

Disappointed, he passed under the arch with his companions. He'd left this wretched place with a charge, promising never to leave her side, looking into her sky eyes burning with resentment, he'd promised _her_ he would follow wherever her feet led them. He hadn't broken his promise, yet still he returned without her.

An ambush was waiting for them on the front step, ready to accost them before the weary travellers could set a foot inside the residence of the royal family. Stewards, mostly, a few of them vaguely familiar to Cain, though Glitch named a few in greeting, relief clear in every gesture he made.

"We must see the Queen immediately," Glitch told the man Cain knew to be the head steward, a hard, serious man whose good side DG had never managed to find herself on. Cain had never had much cause to like the man himself, now even less so, as the head steward gave the slightest shake of his scowling head.

"Not as you are. Her Majesty is abed. She received the reports sent by the lieutenant early this evening. She is expecting you, and will be informed of your arrival. However," the steward said, levelling his gaze on Jeb, "the Queen would speak with you immediately, Lieutenant Cain."

Cain felt himself relax as he drew in a deep breath as they were ushered into the grand, gilded hall. Members of the household guard flanked the entrance, their eyes and expressions unreadable. The whispers would be making their rounds by morning, if they hadn't begun already, maids in corners with heads bowed together, pageboys in passing, men-at-arms during the changing of the guard.

"_They came back without her."_

Cain closed his eyes tight against the golden light that filled the hall, shimmering and dancing in the mirrored ceiling until he was near blinded by the unnatural radiance. Thick carpet felt odd beneath his boots, too soft, unreal. They had been shown through the main entrance, mostly for guests and the general public, as if they were officiants on palace business. The late hour guaranteed it to be virtually deserted, but all the same, they were led through a twist of passages, up innumerable flights of stairs, all with great care and secrecy. Once the family residence had been reached – truly, the only part of the palace Cain had become familiar with in the short time he'd spent there – Jeb and the two men who'd remained with them for the last stretch of the journey to Central were led off by the head steward. With a final backwards glance and a simple nod, Jeb disappeared further into the labyrinthian depths of the palace.

And just like that, Cain found himself alone with Glitch and Raw, staring at carved doors with ornate silver handles that led to soft, warm beds, in this strange, foreign place of rich fabrics, dizzying tile, and emerald glass. Confused beyond comprehension, dirty beyond recognition, and so very, very tired, they broke off without a word, without a glance, and went to rooms that had once belonged to them in another lifetime, one that, it could be assumed, had also belonged to them, before Finaqua, before the Midlings, before the Bur'zaen Overlook. Before crumbling ruins and mouldered paintings, before the witch and the princess had struck their secret bargain.

His room was a small room. His entire cabin could have fit inside, eaves and all, and still he felt enclosed. The walls closed in on him, pale and perfect, embossed with slender vines of ivory, a stranglehold that no deep breathing or soft muttering could dispel. One step, and then another, one breath that followed the next, he waded into the elegance of this room he was meant to recognise, one that had belonged to him an age before.

Before. Would that he could forget that word, banish it from his mind as easily as – well, when had anything ever been easy to forget?

Deeply, he sighed. Another step, another breath, forging his way into this strangeness, finding footholds, fingerholds, a tenuous grasping of safety in the simplest of tasks. He removed his boots, his duster, his hat. He placed DG's sketchbook on the stand next to the bed. He opened the wardrobe, finding clothes that he vaguely recognised as his own clothes; clean as they were, smelling of musty cedar, could they truly be his? The smells of the road, dust and smoke and rain and horse, still clung to him.

He looked down at his hands, the dirt beneath his nails and in the creases of his palms. He reached out to take a crisp shirt from the closet, only to draw his hand away once more, surprised at the stark contrast of the soft, clean cotton and the rough, sun-baked brown of his skin.

Right. First things first.

Almost an hour later, he was smelling like apples, and he didn't like it, but he was cleaner than he'd been since their overnight stay in Ammenium a fortnight prior, and the stream of hot water had been a blessing upon his aching back and shoulders. A meek, mousy girl with eyes bleary from being dragged from her bed had come with food, and left with his dirty articles, promising to return them by morning, most of her sentences mangled by wide-mouth yawns. He'd thanked her, nodding his head, and that had been the last he'd seen of anyone. He didn't mind; he ate in peace, though he managed to stomach little. His mind had wandered too far for it to be brought back easily, even by the overwhelming scent of a well-prepared – if leftover and reheated – meal.

When finally, _finally_, the knock on the door came, quick and erratic and familiar, Cain was standing at the window. It wasn't the city below that drew his attention, but the darkness beyond her walls. He frowned, and let the curtain fall back into place. "Come in," he said, but didn't turn. He didn't have to. It was Glitch who entered, all nervous movement and fluttering hands.

"Azkadellia – the queen, the _queen_ – is waiting for us upstairs in the Galehall."

Cain raised an eyebrow, finally turning to face his friend. "Galehall?"

Glitch was nodding at him, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. He clasped his hands before him, only to loose his arms to swing free once more. Fidgety. "Her audience chamber is – well, I don't think she wants – it's more private, and considering the circumstance –" He cut himself off with a sigh, and threw a lopsided grin Cain's way. He offered no more, holding his hands palms up. "It's actually rather appropriate. You'll see."

It was with those words of foreboding that Cain followed silently along another path of empty, darkened halls. Up and up, far beyond the family residence, past closed doors and open ones. One stairway was wide and sweeping, its runner a deep, ruby red; the next, a narrow servant's stair, their footsteps echoing loudly off the hardwood. And it wasn't until they'd reached a long, out-of-the-way corridor that Cain realised he'd walked this path once before – the night he'd arrived in Central, as Glitch had led the winding way to a quiet place where they could talk. Surely enough, they soon stopped before a set of heavy doors, guarded by two men – one of which was his own son.

Jeb nodded at his father, the faintest quirk at the corner of his mouth meant to convey a smile. Wordlessly, Cain clapped his hand on his son's shoulder, and followed Glitch into the meeting room.

Oh, he knew this place.

His eyes did not go to the bodies seated in high-backed chairs all along a lengthy table; no, his eyes went to the walls, upon which were recorded a history unlike any other. He knew this tale, had _known_ this tale the very moment he'd lain eyes on it, all those weeks ago when the summons had found him in his solitude. Road of yellow brick and beautiful emerald city, fields of pink and blue patchwork, flowers and orchards and deep, gnarled forests. Over bridge and briar that ribbon of gold wound, each village it passed a mere smattering of houses, each lake a dazzling cerulean. The world outside did not hold these colours, but here on the walls of this forgotten room, they still thrived. And at the end of that old road, in all her ruby splendour –

A throat cleared, gruff and loud. Cain tore his eyes away from the walls, and their chilling tale. Around the table sat only four people. Raw sat closest to the door, his head bowed as if asleep, though his shoulders were tense and trembling. Across from him, seemingly asleep with his chin bowed to his chest, was Tutor. Near the centre sat Azkadellia, a lovely sight so reminiscent of her sister, and beside her, glowering deeply, was her father.

For every step, every moment Cain had spent preparing himself for the coldness in the eyes of DG's father, the expectation and worry upon her sister's pale, youthful face – he felt his heart slow, his breath catch, and the guilt began to fill his throat once more, until breathing, and living on, seemed near impossible. It was in Azkadellia's dark, fathomless eyes that he saw the full realisation of his failure to do all that he'd been trusted to do.

At the sight of him, Azkadellia stood, slow and composed, with all the grace her sister would never possess. "Captain," she said. "I'm relieved you decided to stay in the city."

Her comment confused Cain, and brought to a halt whatever he'd thought to say, whether in apology or defence. His silence, however, seemed an invitation for Ahamo to speak up from his seat, arms crossed over his chest.

"I can't say I share my daughter's sentiments. Your orders –"

Straight into it, then. "My orders were to keep DG out of Central City," Cain said, the low tone of his voice surprising even himself. He sounded calm, a calm he did not feel. He remained standing even as Glitch took a seat next to Raw.

"My request to DG did not conflict with this, Father," Azkadellia said, reaching a small white hand toward her father, a gesture that went unrewarded as he barely regarded her at all. "Nor, as I understand it, was DG ever in any more danger than she would have been remaining in Central City with us."

"And your sister's penchant for _placing_ herself in danger?" came Ahamo's scathing reply. "It seems you underestimated it."

Azkadellia's straightened shoulders did not falter, though a deep frown set upon her lips. "DG is safe," she said firmly. "Even you cannot doubt the word of a Viewer. There is no question as to where she was sent, is there?" She turned her quizzical gaze on Raw, and Cain saw his friend flinch beneath the desperation thrown his way.

"No. No question. DG in Kansas. Raw feel –" And here he stopped, taking a deep breath and laying his palms flat on the table, the leather covering them worn and stained and utterly out of place against the dark wood of a surface that had been polished until it reflected as a mirror. "A safe place. A home place. There are faces – friends. DG not alone. But –" Raw lifted his head, his eyes finding Cain, and he said no more. Cain shifted uncomfortably, aware that everyone was watching him, and remained silent.

A moment passed, and then another, filled with a quiet that cried out for breaking. For all the heavy glances and bitten tongues, the world outside might well have disappeared. All that existed, all that had ever existed, was inside that isolated chamber, a single space lost within the gleaming spire at the heart of the Zone's greatest, brightest city.

Finally, the silence was shattered as Tutor cleared his throat. His chair gave a groan as he resettled himself, hands clasped before him on the table. "I asked them to bring you here, Mr. Cain, so that you could relay to them what happened with DG in the ruins," he said slowly, and then, as an afterthought, added, "on the day she disappeared."

And there it was. Finally faced with all he'd dreaded, Cain sighed and took a moment to collect his thoughts, running a hand down his face. He was so unbelievably tired, trapped in a night that seemed to know no end.

"Suppose you're all wanting to know what the witch said to DG," he said, finally sitting himself down away from the rest. He let his head fall back, eyes shut. He didn't need them open to know how completely he held their attention.

"Strange that you've withheld the information until now," said Ahamo.

"I haven't withheld a single, damn thing," Cain said, trying and failing to control the bite of his temper. "I'll tell you exactly what I told these three after the storm. DG wanted to leave, was ready to come back. DG ran up the stairs, and I followed her. The witch had appeared out of nowhere, said she'd been keepin' a watch on us. Said she knew why DG was there, what she wanted." He paused, and swallowed. "Seemed to me like she knew DG better than she knows herself, but the kid wasn't having any of it."

It was Azkadellia who spoke up, quiet words spun so delicate it seemed they'd break with any more force than a whisper. "She knew DG had gone seeking help for Mother?"

Cain shook his head, unable to rid himself of the memory of that red woman standing on that crumbling balcony, the harsh light of the desert suns' caught in her hair. Those dark, dead eyes. "Told the kid she knew she'd come seeking power, but what she meant by that –" He cut himself off, not daring to speculate. The words on his tongue begged for a voice to bring them to reality, but Cain hesitated.

"There's more," Azkadellia said, and in the darkness of her eyes Cain could almost believe that she knew, instinctively, could read him, could see through him, hear the echoing thoughts as though they were her own. But it was a ridiculous notion, one that he rid himself of with a wave of disgust, and he nodded.

"Yeah," he said, and swallowed away the speculation once again, the guesswork and wondering that had taken root in his mind over the week of travel that had carried him from the edge of the world back to the very heart of it. "She said – said the story was one that had been told before, and that was the truth of it."

It was Ahamo who spoke then, as Cain watched Azkadellia, Ahamo who managed to find his voice. "And then what? You left DG to the mercy of this – this _witch_?"

"It was what DG wanted," Cain said, his only defence and so weak at that. He was not fool enough to believe he'd done a great wrong in allowing DG to follow her feet into the fire, but nor was he arrogant enough to think even for a moment that he was so changeable as to go back on his word. From the day they'd left Central City together, he'd told her it was her show, and he would do as she bid, until she would have no more of him.

"You weren't called out to give DG what she wanted," Ahamo snapped, and Cain flinched at the implication, at the truth in his own heart that had taken him so long to realise. "You were brought into this mess to keep her safe."

"She is safe," was all Cain could say. A world away, perhaps, but still safe.

Ahamo rose from his seat. "You dare –"

"Enough!" Azkadellia's voice, hard and sharp and clear, filled the room. "It was by my request that Tutor went to DG in Finaqua, and it was DG's own choice to undertake the journey. Without her, Mother would be – she could have –"

"And now you wish to burden her with the knowledge that her life has cost her a daughter? Need I remind you –"

"No, you do not have to remind me," Azkadellia said tightly, standing as well; as small in stature as she was, with her shoulders thrown back and her chin raised high, she maintained a regal composure that was greatly reminiscent of the woman who had ruled before her, women whose portraits adorned the greatest halls of the Outer Zone. Cain imagined DG would have been proud of her sister in that moment, if only she'd been there to see. "Now that we know, I will speak with Mother. Tomorrow."

"How is – I mean, how –" Glitch, who'd remained so very uncharacteristically quiet during the heated exchange, lifted his eyes from the table to rest them solely on Azkadellia. There was a certain catch to his voice, a stumble, one that could be easily overlooked for all his genuine concern, and yet the words that he managed to speak were so desperately wanting of the curiosity in his eyes. "Lavender is recovering?"

Azkadellia gave him a wisp of a smile. "She is, a miracle I can only attribute to my sister. And to you all."

Cain found himself chafing under her platitudes, however sincere they may be. He stood, watching only the young queen. "If we're finished, Your Majesty." She nodded mutely, and without a backward glance, he stalked from the Galehall, the colourful displays along the walls mocking him with the truth of their tellings.

* * *

**Author's Note**: About the delay - with the holidays, illness, computer issues, the birth of my nephew (who is damned cute), and more illness, I hope that you can forgive me. This story is never far from my mind, and neither are you, my lovely readers. Thank you for your patience!


	34. Sometimes Fabricated, Mostly Accurate

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

* * *

_When Last We Met: After returning to Central City without DG, Cain and his companions can hardly expect to be welcomed with open arms. Their arrival finds DG's family still weathing the storm; a contrite sister, an angry father, and a mother, awake and alive, longing for her daughter to return..._

* * *

**Chapter Thirty Four: Sometimes Fabricated, Mostly Accurate**

It was becoming very apparent to Cain that those closest to him, and perhaps the majority of the populace in general, were under the impression that he did not need to sleep. Where and when the idea had become ingrained into the minds and mannerisms of those with whom he had even the smallest connection, he couldn't exactly be sure, but as it was still before dawn and there was a knocking upon his door that had jarred him from a deep sleep, he wasn't in a position to give it much thought.

He would be impressed later on that he managed to pull himself into a sitting position; dragging himself from the bed was nothing short of a small miracle. He trudged with leaden feet to the door, blearily shrugging his arms into a shirt and fumbling with the buttons as he went. The clock on the wall, ticking away silently behind illuminated glass, told that it was just past five.

He'd expected Glitch, or perhaps the mutt, to be calling on him at this hour – never did he imagine that when he opened the door, he would be faced with the young queen. She offered him nothing, no smile or word of apology. She watched him with dark eyes, the shadows beneath them untouched. Hair unbound, dressing gown undone, and not an escort to be seen.

Cain stood back, and in she slipped, bare feet and all. He could almost have smiled. The door was barely closed behind her when she turned on him, those unfathomable eyes giving no hint of purpose. It was the twist of her lips, trembling and uncertain, that belied what dwelt within her, the same unrelenting turmoil that had devastated DG time and again – and which now plagued him to no end.

Azkadellia didn't seem ready to speak, seemed confused as to why she was there, why her feet had carried her to his door, so he gave her a moment. A little light would help them both, he knew, and so he turned on a lamp, chasing the thick darkness to linger as shadow at the edges of the room. It gathered in the corners like cobwebs, muted and clinging. Still, the soft glow of the lamp allowed him to see her face better, to try and gauge what it was that hid behind her reticence.

Just past five. Beyond the city walls, dawn would be staining the sky, but the dawn never came to Central City. Only when the suns rose over the hills that surrounded the city would the morning catch and glance off the towers and break the gloom on the streets below. And with all this rain –

"I woke you," Az said suddenly, intruding upon his thoughts of true morning, still hours off.

Pointlessly, he nodded. She gave him nothing else, just watched him, so heartbreakingly sympathetic and worried that he could have shouted. Instead, he said with as much patience as he could muster, "Can't tell me as to why I'm awake?"

A nervous smile flashed across her lips before falling out of favour. "I used to tell – forgive me, Mr. Cain, I've caused a great deal of trouble, haven't I?"

He remained still; with nothing to offer, what could he say?

"Gods," she muttered, and then laughed at herself. "May I –" Without waiting, she dropped herself into the closest chair, a show of effortless grace for all the abject relief that showed in her face. "It was never my intention to cause this grief, I hope you'll forgive me."

Twice in as many minutes, she'd asked his forgiveness. The thought rooted itself as a dull, faint throbbing in the back of his head, doomed to grow on him before this was over and done. "There's nothing to forgive," he said, touching his brow lightly with two fingers and closing his eyes.

"There is," she insisted. "I knew DG would find the witch. I sent her straight into this, you, and all the others, too."

"I wouldn't exactly have called that straight," Cain said, unclenching his jaw just long enough to get the words out.

"I knew DG would _find_ the witch. I knew she was out there."

He opened his eyes to see the young queen smiling wryly at him. "How'd you know?"

"Bluesire managed to keep the sorceress out of the Midlings for nine annuals with the threat of Glinda's wrath," she said. "It was the only thing she ever baulked at – that, and DG. Five-years-old and DG was enough to scare her."

Cain thought back to their time in the woods of the eastern province, DG facing off with a general less than four-and-a-half feet tall, a man that still managed to have her quaking in her sneakers. That had been the night Cain had sat with her against an ancient sentinel pine and told her the story of her own damn fate, once upon a times and no place likes homes in all the proper places. Sometimes fabricated, mostly accurate.

They'd slept that night listening to the creaking of ropes and the wind rustling through the boughs that sheltered them. Here in Central City it was deadly quiet, and DG was gone. It weighed heavy, reminding him of his exhaustion; he crossed the room simply to move his limbs, to prove he wasn't trapped in a moment he couldn't escape. With one finger, he parted the curtains; the lights of the city shone white, gold, green in the darkness. The rain slipped down the glass in razor-thin streaks. Dawn still seemed a forever away.

"Is Lavender aware of what's happened?" Cain asked, not taking his eyes from the rainy night beyond the glass.

Azkadellia's hesitation was pronounced. "She will be before the day is out," was her response when it finally came, and the shame he'd seen in her came back full force. He wondered if she struggled as her sister did, and how deep and far it would carry her, that stubborn sense of responsibility over setting things to rights. All the empty words he'd ever said to DG came rushing to mind, but to speak them seemed unthinkable, to console Azkadellia a strange and ridiculous notion.

"There was no hope for your mother when we left," Cain said, leaning against the wall. He pinned back the curtain with his shoulder so that his view might be unhindered, no more lacy haze to hide behind. "What changed?"

"She just – just _woke up_," Azkadellia said, and her apparent amazement caused Cain to smirk at his reflection in the window. "Whatever had been weakening her, whatever caused her to sleep seemed to have forgotten about her, and she just _slept, _just _lingered_ on the edge of – of something, I don't know, I don't understand." Her voice had lowered in pitch, her words had come slower, and he turned to glance at her only to see she'd dropped her head into her hands, hiding behind her long, dark hair. "And now DG is gone, and Mother is awake. She wakes and knows that something is wrong _because _she is awake, and demands to know what's happened, _what did we do_?"

Cain was silent. _What did we do_. Two little princesses. He sighed. _And company._

Azkadellia continued on, each word spoken a strained effort. "Tutor – Mr. Lesley arrived hours before you did. From what he could tell me, and when I informed him of everything," and here she waved a hand dismissively toward the door and all that lay beyond it, "he said – it seems there's little doubt that the two events are related. Mother and DG. Within hours, he guesses, if not an hour, if not minutes, but it's no coincidence."

"And what about you?" Cain asked, looking over his shoulder again at the young queen. Her head was up, and she was looking at him, drawn back to this moment, this place. Ever lost in the past, no matter fifteen days or fifteen annuals; perhaps they two had that in common, though what bound them there made all the difference. All the difference in the world.

"Of course it's not a coincidence," Azkadellia said, trying her damnedest to be firm and almost succeeding. "But I don't see. I don't see why she had to go. It makes no sense."

He turned back to his reflection, and the city lights like stars beyond the sheets of rain. "I have a feelin' it'll make sense to your mother when she's told – if she doesn't know already."

A pause that went on too long followed, and then finally, "Why do you say that, Mr. Cain?"

He cleared his throat, wondering how in hell he was going to force this out. Words that needed to be said, doubtless, but there wasn't a part of him that wanted to be saying them. "Before we – _left_," he said, "your mother spoke to me about DG. Said a few things that didn't make a whole lot of sense – leastwise, not until DG up and –" He stopped short, swallowing the word '_vanished_' away. "Said to me, 'She cannot go back'."

"Cannot go –"

"Took it to mean keep DG out of Central City, that bringing her back would lead to trouble," he said, closing his eyes against his guilt. "Turns out I was wrong."

* * *

There are some events in life that can be foreseen long before fate even sees fit to set a man's feet on a destined path. Inevitabilities, one might say, unavoidable collisions of circumstance. Eight annuals in an iron suit, an eternity caught in a single fragment of time, a torment that knew no beginning and no end, all leading to the moment when a hapless girl, lost and bewildered, was drawn to him by the tinny echo of his wife's desperate screams. No, he knew there were no coincidences. Each and every step taken, word spoken, mistake made as he'd walked the Old Road with DG and their companions, right to the very edge of the world, it all led to this doomed moment.

Cain stood outside the door to Lavender's rooms, waiting.

He'd been in Central City two full days, and the third had bled away into dusk before he'd been sought out, summoned, and now there he was, waiting, always waiting. He'd kept mostly to himself during those days, though there were those who had known where to find him if they were inclined to look. His son, Glitch, and Raw had all been so inclined at one point or another over the past two – damn it, almost three – days.

Jeb seemed in no hurry to get out of the city, and remained at the palace, quartered in the barracks with the household guard. Glitch was antsy, nervous; the unsolved problem at hand, namely the problem of DG, had him bothered and it was showing at the seams. Raw was due to leave soon, the girl's fate out of his hands; returning to his own village, the tension of the city nipping at his heels. It was not worry or doubt that Cain saw in the Viewer's face but relief, and in that he managed to take a great deal of comfort. He'd tried his best not to work out what it meant, exactly, for he found he enjoyed the vague sense of solace he'd managed to glean far too much to let the truth ruin it.

Now, however, standing alone in the wide hall outside Lavender's chambers, Cain wished he'd managed to glean a bit more than comfort from his friends over the past few days. A little courage, perhaps, to face all this, instead of allowing his feet to go where they would, out of the city and into the east to hide. His little cabin in the marshes, a quiet existence on the forgotten little swath of land that ran between the Midlings and the fields of the Papay.

Once, it had been easy to walk away. Easy to push himself away from her, easy to run from the light that she was determined to bring back into his life, no matter the resistance he'd put up. So he _ran_, back to the bleak grey nothingness of the world he knew. It was there that he could simply _be_, could stand and remember. To live in her world – even now, standing in the midst of these elegant surroundings, he had a hell of a time wrapping his head around it. What reason did he have to remain when even she herself had abandoned this life?

The door opened and he was left with no time to wonder why he'd waited this long to figure it out. He was beckoned inside by a young lady's maid, a girl cowed to silence by the sight of him. The meek little squeak she gave him upon opening the door was all he got out of her. The surreptitious glances cast back at him as he followed her through the sitting room and into the bedroom did little more than add to his frustration. It was all he could do to stop himself from giving the girl a good glaring as she bowed herself out of the room – he worked to keep his face expressionless as his eyes darted around the room he now found himself in, taking in what he could while he could.

He'd been there before, of course, and very little had changed. The curtains were thrown wide; the rain had let up, the light of the pale, cloudy day filtering in; the lamps were lit to cast their glow and were doing a very poor job of it. It was dismal in that room, unwelcoming, and to Cain it was yet another mark of how fate had cursed him, that he was made to stand there under the scrutiny of a small, sickly woman whom he'd wronged in a most inadvertent way. It was a consolation, strange and simple as it was, that he was not the first to stand before her, nor the second or third. That he was _last_ to stand before her should have warned him, but looking back later on, he couldn't quite have been sure what he would need have been warned about. In truth, how could he have expected any less?

"Mr. Cain." Softly, so softly did she speak, her voice weak from disuse.

He bowed his head with what respect he could offer. "Your Grace." He met her eyes, and was startled to see how much the vivid lavender colour had faded. Shadow eyes, ghost eyes, unnerving. He didn't look away.

"I must admit, I'm surprised you've remained in the city," she said, and there was the scarcest curve to her lips, the faintest trace of a smile. Had he let slip just how much her observation annoyed him, because it seemed to be a popular one and he was damned tired of hearing it. "I had been given the impression that when you were called upon, you did not wish to be here. Why stay when the job is finished?"

"Situation changed," was all he could say, and even then, it felt as though it were too much. Too open and too honest, too easy for her to see all that those two little words could encompass. To look away would be to confess it all: the coldness DG had greeted him with to mask the hurt she'd still felt, the nights he'd sat with her in silence to reassure her with nothing but his presence, that first quiet kiss in the dust of the ruin, the second kiss under the stars that had near stolen what little reservation had remained to him. _Situation changed,_ he'd said.

Her smile widened slightly. "An understatement, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Cain? The situation has grown very dire indeed."

He knew better than to answer. He waited while she watched him, perhaps looking for confirmation of all she'd suspected long before this, and it was only when she was satisfied that a certain amount of very uncomfortable minutes had passed that she continued. "Please do not worry yourself. If I had been more direct with my daughters, it is doubtless that this entire mess could have been avoided. Our children, no matter how old and wise they think they've grown, never truly see that what we do is in their best interests."

Cain smirked, couldn't help it. "Keepin' the ones you're trying to protect in the dark could have something to do with it."

"Perhaps," Lavender conceded, "or perhaps the truth would have moved them to faster action. Thoughtless action."

Once again, Cain kept his tongue firmly in his head, though he couldn't for the life of him come up with something more reckless than what Azkadellia had devised, a plan that DG had carried out so successfully. Seeing Lavender back from the brink of death with his own eyes, even he couldn't deny that DG had succeeded in all that she'd set out to accomplish. But even he could not resolve himself to this end justifying her means. His feelings for her would not allow it of him.

"I had hoped that you would be able to keep DG here," she said, leaning back against her pillows. "The affection between the two of you was a poorly kept secret, but it was still yours to keep. I had hoped to exploit that, and I hope you'll forgive that of me, Mr. Cain."

"I don't see what that –"

"I had thought that, perhaps, if you and my daughter were able to reconcile, it would keep her in Finaqua," Lavender said, almost dreamily. More and more as the minutes passed, her voice became weighted with effort and exhaustion. She turned those tired, pale eyes on him. "She would have been safe there, if you'd stayed; you would be there and I would be gone."

"You knew the girl wasn't willin' to let you go," he said.

Lavender nodded. "I didn't want her to have the choice. I did not want her to make that sacrifice."

"And yet here we are," he said, impatient now and not even bothering to swallow it back.

"Neither you or I could protect her from herself, Mr. Cain," she said with another weak smile. "I have never been able to protect my girls from themselves." She sighed, and let her eyes slip closed, sinking back farther into the pillows supporting her. So fragile, evanescent; it was no surprise to him that only the intervention of magic had bound her to her life. Long minutes ticked away in which he stood anchored and still, wondering if she was done with him, if he could walk out and keep walking, when she asked him, still heavy-lidded and peaceful, "Do you know why I sent my daughter to the Other Side after the Sorceress killed her?"

"No," he said, biting back a growl. Damn it, he wasn't there to wade through a lifetime of this woman's regrets.

"She couldn't stay, my DG," she said, turning her head and looking out one of the large windows at the grey world outside. "There were – _allies _of our family over the desert who could have fostered her. Those who would have kept her hidden and safe. It would have been easy to smuggle her out of Qhoyre on a sandship. It was Astor who stopped me."

Cain frowned. "The Mystic Man?"

Lavender nodded, not taking her gaze from the window. What she saw beyond the tinted glass, he couldn't guess. "He refused to approach his contacts on our behalf. Once he'd felt the light in DG, and discovered what I'd done. He didn't understand, but had no child, how could he? But he made it very clear that I did not understand what I'd done, either."

Cain could have almost smiled then, thinking of this silver-haired, soft-spoken woman facing off with that hard-headed, loud-mouthed old man. He imagined her telling him he was wrong, and the sly grin that would have come to his face, the twinkle in his eye that would always win out when he was _told_ he was wrong. The man was never wrong, and knew it.

He realised that Lavender, while not looking at him was still waiting for a response. "It was his idea to send DG to the Other Side, then."

"Complete and utter separation. Severance. She would leave this world so that I might remain in it."

The meaning of her words descended slowly on Cain as he tried to make sense of what he'd been told, what he'd known, what he'd guessed at. He knew nothing of magic, but for what he'd seen from the girl. The Mystic Man had been a scholar, the most learned man the O.Z. had known for generations, yet he was no wizard. He held no true power. His gift lay in knowledge, in the wisdom and experience gained by him over his long years of freedom before Azkadellia had tightened his leash. That Lavender had sought his council after she'd given up her Light to save DG did not surprise Cain in the least.

"My daughter was too young to face her sister. She was untrained, defenceless." Lavender looked at him then, and the sorrow burning in her eyes near took his breath away. "I struggled with no power as the darkness in my Azkadellia grew, until she was all but consumed. That she claimed the throne as her own was inevitable. That she did not kill me – well, I will never know by what grace I was granted such a reprieve. I should not have been. Nine annuals I lingered on the edge of existence. Time stood still, and yet _nine _annuals passed."

He cut her off, never mind that he should have been holding his tongue. He did not need to hear of the torture of being stuck in a moment in time while the rest of the world marched on without you. "Why tell me this?" he asked, his voice steadier than he felt, for her words had shaken him to the core. "It's DG that you should have told this to. The war's been over for almost a year. The kid deserves to know."

"How would you tell your child that they are slowly killing you, and there is nothing that can be done to stop it?"

Cain had no reply. Anger was boiling in the pit of his stomach, the guilt he'd felt a distant memory in the face of truth. These words were not meant for his ears, and yet he listened because Lavender had chosen him. He forced himself to look away from the wilting woman propped up in her bed, the woman who watched him so beseechingly.

"There was a way to stop it," he finally bit out. "It never crossed your mind she'd go over your head to do it?"

Lavender frowned, and there was far less warmth in her voice when she said, "Did it cross my mind that a far greater power would grant such a request to a child? No, it did not. Nor did I think my DG find her at all, let alone in time." She softened as she shook her head, turning her head once again to the window, and the day outside that she'd never expected to see.

He looked away, unprepared to watch her struggle with her sorrow. Instead, he took a moment to choose his next words carefully, weighing out all that was on his mind and finding that, in spite of his anger, his frustration and disbelief, to put it all on this woman would be a great injustice.

"Seems to me then," he said slowly,"that we're both fools, underestimating DG like we did." He smirked at the absurdity of it.

"It would appear so," she agreed, but there was no strength in her now, no focus. The truth and all it implicated had left her drained, and it left him almost unbearably sad. Never, never could he imagine that DG had left her mother to drown in her disappointment and regret.

_Damn it, darlin', you need to get back here and set this right._

Sensing she was finished, he turned away. As he reached the bedroom door, she called his name.

"Speak with Azkadellia, Mr. Cain, arrange what needs to be done. I hope that I've underestimated you as well. Please, bring DG home."

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**Author's Note: **Thank you to all the people reading, reviewing, and adding this story to their Favourites and Alerts. My most 'alerted' story ever. Thanks again, all my lovelies. You make a girl feel special.


	35. Walk These Empty Streets

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

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****_When Last We Met: Their journey complete, Cain and the others find rest in Central City, but reassurance is not so easy to come by. At Lavender's insistence, DG must return to the O.Z., and Cain has known all along he will be the one to do it, whether he likes it or not. _

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**Chapter Thirty Five: Walk These Empty Streets**

On his last night in Central City, Cain took a walk much as he had the night he'd arrived. It was closing in on two months since that very first night back. It had been colder then, the late spring chill clinging to the still budding summer. The hour had been late, the streets empty, and only darkness had lingered in the doorsteps. He'd gone chasing shadows that night, and had found himself nothing but trouble.

Tonight, however, there were no darkened doorsteps. It seemed as though the city itself was struggling valiantly to reclaim some former glory, but Cain knew no amount of searching would bring him the solace he sought. The lights burned bright, and the only shadows that moved were those of the patrons walking the streets, cast ghastly and menacing by the headlights of passing cars. Gale colours were hanging from every lamppost in the city; Lavender's influence guiding Azkadellia's hand. He wondered if it was futile, these ghosts of queens trying to raise their city from the dead. Then he thought of these women still fighting despite all the struggle and sorrow and slow, slow victory. And then, inevitably, he thought of DG, and every assumption and assertion he'd made fell apart, and he was left to start from scratch.

He avoided the crowded avenues, though he took a small detour through the theatre district, where many denizens had gone to play the summer's evening away. It was there that he thought he caught a glimpse of the city's wild and unrestrained glamour and fortune. Perhaps there was hope yet, but to Cain it hardly mattered. As ever, he'd grown tired of Central, of the tricks and the lies.

Maybe when he left this time, it would be the last time.

In quiet alleys, he found some manner of clarity. Peace, he knew, had long since abandoned him, but he could almost believe that acquiescence was just as good. Less elusive to say the least. Acceptance that was hard-fought, his worst enemy – himself – conquered, at least for the time being. There was comfort in it, and perhaps the weary load of guilt he'd been toting around would be a little easier to bear.

Thoughts of the future have a way of acting as a double-edged blade and he was a clumsy fool. Still, his course was chosen, or had been chosen for him; no matter how much consideration he gave it, he couldn't rightly say one way or the other. He couldn't bring himself to question the validity or sanity of the plan. He'd had more than enough questing for answers. His life had conditioned him to taking orders, and hesitation was long behind him now. No room for whispering doubt or lingering fear.

That wasn't to say that he hadn't had them, those doubts or fears. Those moments had come and claimed their rightful toll from him, long days spent weighted with those burdens and he'd given himself over to untangling the skein of discord that had lodged itself so tightly around him. Those days, those impossibly long days, little by little he'd managed to forge his conclusions, however far-gone they might yet be.

He was going to have a clear head going into this, and a clean conscience. Not only did DG deserve as much, he owed it to himself. Still, that wasn't to say he was up and walking into this blindly and without reservation.

_Damn it._

Cain stopped at the end of a narrow alley. He leaned a shoulder against the grimy brick, letting his head hang. He'd managed to talk himself in circles again, and to say that it was becoming bothersome would be putting it politely. And after all that had happened to him in the weeks prior, he didn't feel too much like being nice to himself. Inwardly, he cursed; outwardly, he shook his head.

He told himself once more that he didn't have a choice, and that helped a bit of calm to spread through him. It was that simple, after all.

Though slipping over was more drastic a step than he'd ever planned on taking in his life, he could hardly refuse the opportunity. Whether he admitted that he was the one behind the decision, or if he hid behind the Gales and their insistence that he was the only one capable of bringing her home, of _convincing _her to come home, the end result would be the same.

"Exile," as Azkadellia had put it, a week or so past when the plans were tentatively laid out before him.

She'd watched him carefully as he'd repeated the word, unsure that he'd heard her right. To say it aloud felt odd; though he'd used the word many a time when reflecting on his six months away from Central City, he couldn't remember a time when he'd actually said it _out loud_. Others had said it in his hearing, Glitch, the girl, but he himself had never.

There was a soft smile on her lips as she regarded him. "Or banishment, if you prefer. It does seem a touch more poetic."

Poetic. He'd snorted, then ducked his head apologetically. Hard to forget at times who he was dealing with, but it did happen, and then only his surprise masked his embarrassment. DG had never stood much upon ceremony, had in fact trod all over it at times with dirty, ratty sneakers, but Azkadellia was far different. She, however, had the sweetness and good grace not to impose custom and protocol upon him.

"I don't prefer either," he'd said. The word she used made no difference to him.

"But should you be unable to return –"

"Is that really a concern?" he'd asked, hard-pressed to keep the bite out of his voice.

"I honestly couldn't say, Mr. Cain. It all depends on DG."

He'd said nothing after that, taking a long moment to let it sink in before he had turned and walked out. He had left the door wide open instead of slamming it, though he'd sorely wanted to. He was not so assured of his position to do that. He'd had days to come around to the knowledge that, like it or not, he was facing banishment with conditional return. A ridiculous concoction to sate a faceless council who could no longer be misled as to DG's whereabouts, but were by no means to know of the fragile imbalance in the vitality and stability of their ruling family. The girl had run away, she was his task and his ticket home. In the end, a very plain and simple _'don't come back without her'. _He didn't have to wonder whose hands had orchestrated this particular false fate for him.

DG's father had been set to go himself. As word had trickled in ahead of Cain and the others that DG wasn't with them, as the story had come from the mouths of Tutor, Glitch, Raw, and Cain himself in rapid succession, Ahamo had declared himself the one to bring his daughter back. The idea had probably been stewing under that greying mane of his even as he'd sat in the Galehall listening to his daughter's companions recite the same sorry tale again and again, surrounded by the painted history of his wife's ancestress and his own visions of grandeur and redemption.

It was a plan. Cain had much preferred it. In no way did he feel that he was the one to slip over to a world he didn't know to argue with DG the finer points of staying and running. He was a traitor to his heart, but he was no liar, and he held no delusions. Where she'd gone was no place for him, but he could be there waiting when she returned home. If she returned home.

He'd managed to breathe easy, and it hadn't lasted long. Lavender, in all her infinite wisdom, was determined that he be the one to follow DG wherever she'd gone. Ahamo had been furious, vocally, visually furious, but he'd raised no objection. As ever, Lavender gave a quiet word and a weak wave of her hand and the world shook and shifted and stopped all together. Her family treated her with a veneration that had Cain near fit to burst with frustration. Even had he been in a position to voice his concerns, he wasn't all together sure if he could ever put to words the utter amazement he felt that the woman's authority still had any pull at all. Lavender was ruled by sentimentality and stubbornness, traits she'd passed on to her youngest daughter. The crumbling resistance couldn't know now Azkadellia's restraint and level-headedness. Only time could teach that to the people. It was time that it now seemed she might just be given to shine.

Now, breathing in the warm, stagnant city air on what could very well have been his last night in the O.Z., Cain found himself resigned to what was to come. It came as no surprise, but it was a pleasant realisation all the same.

Knowing that sleep did not wait for him back at the palace, Cain walked the streets into the early hours of the morning, his feet driven by the restlessness of his mind. The beat of his boots against the cobblestones had an echo of familiarity to it, and it was this he followed in circles, easing himself into the rhythm of it, into the peace that could be found there. He crossed the city over and again, finding the dark, secret ways, tunnels and alleys and narrow iron-grated stairs that clanged mercilessly under his weight.

If he was meant to sort out the tangle of whys in his mind, it didn't work out that way for him. Never did. He knew he would carry these questions and doubts with him when he slipped over, that the answers he sought were well beyond the reach of any who remained on this side, save one. But the witch hadn't reappeared for them after they'd dug through the destruction of the half-collapsed ruin, nearly collapsing themselves from the dry, scorching heat. Her business had been with the girl, and with the passing of the storm, it was finished.

Across the Outer Zones, weeks later, skies had yet to clear. Such a grey, miserable turn to what had been a promising summer. He wondered when the rain would stop, when the suns would come out. If he knew one thing for certain, it was that the weather would not break before his time here was up, but that was all right by him. As it had been explained to him, all the purple-bellied thunderclouds and ceaseless rain boded well for the magic of summoning travel storms. He wasn't about to pretend to understand it, but Azkadellia and Tutor were particularly hopeful.

Plans laid, goodbyes said. There was very little time left. His son was out of the city, words exchanged a few nights past when both of them had managed to tear themselves away from their last bits of leisure time spent doing nothing to spend a few moments together instead. Though it was against every instinct he had, Cain had kept to himself that pesky condition of his return. Damn himself to hell, but he couldn't put to words the thought of not coming back. Especially to his son.

Raw was gone, his last days in Central spent passing Cain glimpses of DG's life on the Other Side. There'd be a brief touch on his hand, and then he'd be overtaken by a violent shiver coursing through him as an image or two flashed before his mind. A battered green pick-up, an old farmhouse with a patched roof, plate-glass windows with lacy white curtains. Despite knowing his friend's good intentions, Cain had taken to snatching his hand out of reach whenever he'd found himself close to Raw.

Only Glitch remained to be Cain's near constant companion, or as constant as Cain himself would allow. Most days he'd been glad of the company, for a few hours at the very least; the endless stream of thought and wonder that spilled from Glitch's mouth was a welcome drone in the background to drown out the hissing in his own mind. It was through his friend's tendency to ramble that he'd learned about Lavender's interjection in Ahamo's plan, and Azkadellia's veiled attempt to ensure that Cain did not return without DG, all for the councillors breathing down her neck.

There was no attempt within him to rationalise this, to try convince himself that it was the right thing to do, or the wrong thing, or that it simply had to be done at all. He could hide behind the decisions of the queen he served, and the frail, undying woman who held that queen's devotion. Perhaps he'd only be gone a handful of days, and would return with a remorseful princess ready to face the death of her mother. Perhaps in the end he would change nothing, and find himself stuck in a world he didn't know with a girl who resented him for trying to undermine the most important, selfless decision she'd ever made.

He didn't know, but he had to try. He owed her that much. If they were both destined – _determined_ – to spend their lives alone, perhaps they could do it together. And with this thought, he was able to find the calm he'd gone searching for when he'd left the palace to wander the lonely streets of a city he loathed. With a few hours to spare before dawn, he returned to the palace, the golden-glass heart of his homeland.

The room he'd occupied since arriving was the same empty, lifeless place it had been when he'd crept away. His canvas rucksack waited packed and ready on the bed, light and unassuming. He looked around the room that did not belong to him, and sighed. There was nothing left for him to do. Slowly, he sank down into a chair opposite the bed, let his head fall back, and waited for the pounding of his heart to come back under his control.

And then there was knocking at the door and his eyes were flying open and the rest he'd found was chased away as his pulse was sent leaping away from him once more. How had he managed to fall asleep – shaking off his disorientation, he stood, swiped at his eyes, and went to open the door.

The familiar knock was accompanied by a familiar face. Glitch, smiling brightly for all that it was an ungodly hour. Dawn, or near enough.

"So, are you just about done convincing yourself this is the right thing to do?" he said by way of a greeting.

Cain sighed. "Isn't enough time in the world for that, but it's near enough."

His friend continued to smile cheekily, entirely unmoved. "You didn't sleep."

"Had some things to think on."

A moment of silence followed during the course of which Glitch looked him over carefully, came to his estimations, thought them over and then thought them over again. Whatever conclusion he seemed to come to in the end, Cain couldn't know, and didn't particularly care to. It was more than enough that his friend said, "You know I'd go in your place if I could."

Not up to withstanding such reassurance, he grunted dismissively. "Bet your ass you would."

Another grin, one that was tainted with the sadness of impossibility. While mostly recovered, Glitch was still in possession of a brain that had been stitched back together with equal parts of magic, science, and prayer. He'd have an easier time arguing DG out of this exile, of that Cain was absolutely certain, but the potential risk of regression or injury was great enough that doing such had never been an option. Glitch could not, would not go.

Another bit of weight to shoulder. No matter; Cain barely even noticed it any more.

"You'll bring her back, won't you?" Glitch asked.

Cain grimaced. "That's the plan. You dragged yourself down here at this hour to ask me that?"

Glitch flashed another grin, a pale imitation of his earlier ones. He ran his hands over his rumpled clothes, shirt half-untucked, waistcoat unbuttoned. "No, no, of course not. I've come to see you off. Azkadellia is waiting for us, actually, so we should –"

Solemnly, Cain nodded. If this was the extent of the fanfare to be dealt with, he could consider himself lucky. He picked the rucksack up from its place on the bed. It felt foreign, bulky. The clothes inside did not belong to him. He was halfway across the room with it before he stopped. He went back to the nightstand, and pulled DG's sketchbook from the drawer. Seemed that the time to return it to its rightful owner had come.

"Let's get this done."

Glitch's enthusiasm was back then, like switching on a light. "Fantastic!"

For the life of him, Cain could come up with no response, and merely raised an eyebrow in question.

Glitch, bless or damn him, had the decency to look bashful, but there was no hiding his excitement. "Sorry. Just eager to get a look at the magical aspect of this in practice." One last smile, a show of teeth, a small chuckle. "No one's ever quite been able to explain to me how these things work."

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**Author's Note: **A ridiculously big thank you to all who take the time to read this story and have stuck with me thus far. I'm very spoiled and should treat you better than an update a month! I can't make any promises but this one: the reunion **is** next chapter, but that's all I can say. Thanks again to you, my lovelies!


	36. In the Light of Day

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run**

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_When Last We Met: DG was utterly successful in her quest; her mother will live - as long as she never returns. Unwilling to allow her daughter to live in exile, Lavender gives Cain what she hopes to be her last order: retrieve the princess and bring her home. A task easier given than done..._

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**Chapter Thirty Six: In the Light of Day**

He landed on his back, and he landed hard, the air knocked clean out of him. Dazed, he struggled to get to his knees, but he had no strength and he collapsed with his face in the dirt. His fingernails dug deep into the earth, gods be good, it was _solid_ and it smelled of sunlight and dusty decay. The grass was scorched and brittle and broke against his hands. He kept his head down, his eyes closed, as sense slowly forced its way through the fog in his mind, the relentless wind and roiling sky.

Azkadellia's storm was fierce, though the power paled in comparison to the only other storm Cain had ever known, the day DG had disappeared from the southern edge of the Outer Zone. Even now, crouched on his knees in a hardscrabble field, he knew the difference. To command the forces of sky and wind, thunder and rain – he had never felt so insignificant, so mortal, as when these elements pounded him down into the ground.

One thing could be said in favour of exile, he discovered then. Never, ever having to endure another storm such as this again.

He didn't know how long he'd been kneeling in dirt when the rain began, light and steady. It seemed an eternity before the wind finally began to die down, and the rumbles overhead faded into the distance, moving on as quickly as the summer storms the spells were meant to emulate. The darkness, however, didn't clear – it had been just after second sunrise when Azkadellia's storm had began to swirl in the sky over his head, the pink clouds closing in and turning grey. Now, the paling of a horizon so very, very far away spoke of east and dawn.

He pushed himself up out of the dirt, dusting his hands off on his trousers. It didn't do much good. His clothes were heavy with damp, and brushing the mud and dead grass from his clothes became an exercise in futility. He dared a glance up at the forbidding, overcast sky. Already, the clouds were beginning to drift, leaving open patches of inky night, glimpses of stars. The rain soon began to let up, and the moon came out, sinking lower into the northwest even as he watched. The light of it was bright, unbroken, illuminating the empty field he'd been dropped in until he felt he was afloat in a waving, foaming sea of prairie grass.

He looked around. A thicket of tall, crooked trees was closest, looming sentinels that swayed in the wind, leaves billowing in a deafening rush. Black shapes etched against the night in the distance to the north seemed to be buildings, their lights small and square and steady. Tiny pinpricks of red light could be seen beyond that, moving farther and farther until disappearing all together, signifying a road, and beyond that, somewhere, civilisation.

Cain found himself at a loss. He'd been counting on daylight. He'd hoped the weather would clear faster. With nowhere to direct his frustration, he looked up at the wispy, black clouds that were curling across the moon. An hour or more until the sun was fully risen, and a few hours beyond that before the world put itself to the daily grind of working order.

He shifted his knapsack on his shoulder, gave his sleeve a distracted brush, but the spiny bits of grass only stuck to his skin. What a mess he was, another thing to thank Azkadellia for. These Gales had a strange way of repaying those who did them service. Next time, it might be wiser to sneak out the back before the queen started doling out the compliments and gratitude.

If he made it back. If there _was _a next time.

Wading through the tall grass left him soaked to his knees, and fighting his way into the tangled little copse took care of the rest of him. The tree at the heart of the thicket was tall and scraggly, and Cain had to duck to get beneath the lowest of its branches. Still, it was dry and he set himself down with his back against the rough, fissured bark. The air was heavy with the smells of soil and rain and summer.

He closed his eyes, meaning it to be just for a minute or two, but when he blinked them open again, it was to sunlight streaming into his little hiding place, bright as holy wrath.

He rubbed a hand over his face, tried his best to shake the clinging cobwebs of sleep from his limbs as he stood and stretched. He was stiff, sore, but there was nothing to be done for it. The storm had battered him, but he'd walked away whole and that was good enough for him. His clothes had dried on him as he slept, though he chose to change into a clean shirt. Before shrugging into his sleeves, he took a moment to look at the light dappling his bare arm. Really, this sun was no different. Brighter and meaner, but lonely looking, at least to him. An odd sight, and one he was glad he didn't have to stare into. Still, enough wary glances had his vision dancing with spots as he repacked his knapsack and wove his way out of the brush into the open air.

The buildings he'd spied in the darkness turned out to be a farmstead, half a handful of main buildings, with a few smaller sheds back near a crooked fence of posts and wire. However, even at a distance Cain didn't recognise the house or barn, and dismissed the idea of going that way. Instead, he headed toward the road, taking it slow; he had no intention of turning an ankle stepping into some creature's burrow.

The road was asphalt, bleached and cracked, a two-laned strip of ugliness stretching out endlessly in either direction. It was cut up the middle with a dotted line, and of course it had to be yellow. A long look north, and then south, offered him no clues as to which way to turn. He swore, loudly. With no one to hear, what did it matter?

All roads led somewhere. He had what was needed to find the girl, her name, her address, the soft green notes that passed as currency in this country – _dollars_, he reminded himself – but until he had a place to start from, trying to get to her was impossible. One world or another, the middle of nowhere was still the middle of nowhere.

And somehow, it came down to this road and a choice. North or south. Had he chosen, or had it been chosen for him; which glass held the poison.

_Damn that woman._

He turned south.

The morning was pleasant enough, the air damp and chill, the wind brisk. He was without his hat or duster, and he hadn't worn his holster since his return to Central. The sun kept him warm, the walk kept him warmer. The land was relatively flat, and the road was old, patched with black every few feet, dipping and heaving in places where the land had swelled with frost over the winter. The gravel on the shoulder crunched beneath his boots. The ditch to his left was filled with tall weeds and pale purple wildflowers, the odd bone-dry drainage pipe jutting here and there from the embankment. There were no trees growing close to the road, but farther back in these neglected, overgrown fields, there were thick clusters of taller trees and stunted scrub brush near identical to the one he'd sheltered under.

Close to an hour had passed, if he was any judge of the sun – which, he supposed, in this place he wasn't – when the road began to climb a gentle slope, and once crested, he had a view on into what seemed like forever, the golden grass and summer green trees. The highway stretched on ever south. An ambling gravel track cut west, with no end in sight.

And there, across the road, nestled in amongst its windmills and flowering trees, a whitewashed farmhouse. The barn was a half-collapsed ruin, and most of the roof of the house was covered by a sheet of grey canvas, but there was no mistaking it. Looming over the barn was thick, gnarled old tree with branches like reaching arms. Stout enough to hang a swing from, Cain was certain.

His disappointment grew the closer he got. By the time he'd turned up the drive, it was painfully obvious that the house had been left alone for close to a year after the storm had hit to take its occupants away. The barn was beyond salvation, a shell in need of tearing down. But signs of repair about the place were obvious. Some of the windows were boarded over, but the plywood sheets were fresh cut. The trees that grew out over the road showed raw wounds where thick branches had broken and been sawed away. The edge of the driveway was lined with brush waiting to be hauled away.

The yard was empty, but marked with tire-tracks. More stacks of debris, mostly wood and shingles, while broken pieces of window glass were set off to the side. And there, beside the gaping hole of a barn door, an old motorcycle leaning drunkenly on its kickstand. No seat, no battery, a broken headlamp.

The path leading to the porch steps had been beaten down by repeated passage, and the third step up was brand new, the nails still shiny enough to glint in the morning light. On the porch, he took a moment to look around, back across the dirt yard, the ruined barn. This was the exile she had chosen. Not really all that different from his own. Ghosts in the dust, a broken home, and utter loneliness, righteously deserved.

Grumbling, he let his head hang and rapped hard on the screen door. It didn't jostle in the frame as he'd expected. Even the screen door had been newly hung. While he knew DG to be handy with a wrench, he'd heard quite the opposite of her aptitude with a hammer. He knocked again.

He waited almost ten minutes before admitting to himself that she wasn't there. With a sigh, he dropped his knapsack down on the porch, rolled up his shirtsleeves, then leaned against the railing. He knew she'd returned to the house she'd grown up in. If Raw had been certain of one thing, it was that she was holing up here, and Cain trusted the Viewer's heartsight. Inconsistent and conditional as it was.

Still, he couldn't deny that it was a peaceful place. An outright boring place as well, there was no getting around that fact. The breeze kept up, bringing him the perfume of the heavy-headed purple blossoms that hung from the bushes that choked the side of the house. He could almost have slept, but he knew it was pointless. He was prepared to wait for the girl, and he would do it with his eyes open.

The sun had arced high in the sky when a truck turned down the drive, kicking up a thin cloud of dust as it bounced hard over the washboard ruts. It was clear right away that the driver was not a dark-haired young woman, but a man. Cain moved to stand at the top of the steps as the old, dented pick-up came to a halt in the dirt yard. The tailgate was down, the bed stacked with cut lumber cordoned off and flagged with trailing bits of red tape.

The man that got out of the truck was old enough to be his father, white-haired, bespectacled, but still strong, and ill-tempered to boot, if the force with which he slammed the door was any judge.

"Something I can help you with?" he asked, as he came around the front of the truck.

"Hoping so," Cain said. "I'm looking for DG."

Suspicion was clear on the old man's face, though he attempted a guarded look. A loyal old dog, it seemed. "Girl ain't here right now. What are you wanting DG for?"

Cain gave him a crooked half-smile. "Just though I'd drop in and see how she was doing at getting set up."

"Fine enough," the old man said. He stuck his fists to his hips, a stubborn stance. "She'll be back 'round this way this evening, you can come back then."

"She gone into town?" Cain ventured, a bit of a bluff.

The old man didn't respond, regarding him warily. A look that Cain was used to, and it didn't faze him in the slightest. He only stood still, waiting for the old man to be done with his sizing. He didn't seem to come to a happy conclusion.

"You that Wyatt fellow?" he finally asked. Cain merely nodded, trying not to show his surprise at hearing his own name from this stranger's mouth. The old man sighed. "Girl's been through enough. Might be you should consider turning around and going back the way you came."

"Just here to talk to her." There was nothing more than that he could offer up. He wasn't about to go tangling himself in the lies the girl would have had to concoct to explain away her sudden reappearance. Once he talked to her, he could learn her tale and abide to it.

"Hank and Em send you?"

Cain shook his head, no.

"Lord above," the old man said. "I knew that girl wasn't telling us everything. Well, nothing new there. Gales are queer folk, always have been." He stopped and sighed, took a look around as if wanting to be anywhere else just then. "Listen, I wish you weren't here, but you are. And I am not about to make you my problem. DG's in town, working the lunch shift over at the Hilltop. First thing you'll see when you head in."

"Much obliged," Cain said, and because the old man was at least an acquaintance of DG's, he extended his hand. "Wyatt Cain."

"Wayne Kelley," the old man replied, slow to take Cain's hand.

* * *

"Town" turned out to be a scattering of buildings that hugged either side of the highway along a half-mile stretch. What streets Cain could see were paved, the houses were squat and square with yards boxed off by faded picket fences. Farther down the main road he could see a market building, a line of gas-pumps. More houses. A field that looked to be for sports. Yet more houses. A tall, brick building surrounded by towering oaks. And beyond that, a whole lot of nothing.

It was so grey, and quiet. The grass here was not the gold of the fields he'd walked through, but pale, parched of colour. Even the sky seemed to have lost some of its brilliance. Gods, no wonder she hated the place.

As promised, the Hilltop was at the very edge of town, a small diner set next to a fenced in car lot and across from a complex that looked to hold apartments. It was an ugly, grey building with red awnings. White window blinds blocked all view of the inside from the street, but the sign said _'open'_. A handful of vehicles were pulled up in front, but it looked to be a slow afternoon. Just as well.

Cain stood on the side of the highway for a long moment, taking it all in. The sign, the cracked plastic window awnings, the wilting flowers in their wooden potting barrels. The wind had given up a bit of its bluster, and he could feel the sun growing hotter on the back of his neck. It took a good while for him to berate himself into moving. He'd come this far, he wasn't about to baulk at this threshold. At least, that's what he was still trying to convince himself of as he forced his feet to walk.

A pleasant blast of cold air hit him as he entered, accompanied by the jingling of a bell set above the door. A long counter with a row of red stools bolted to the floor ran near the length of the inside, while tables and chairs stood along walls covered in framed pictures. Only one table was occupied by a woman with a book who paid him no mind, while a pair of old men at the counter turned to watch him with curiosity curbed with suspicion.

From somewhere in the back, where Cain couldn't see, a man was bellowing at someone. A blonde girl came bustling out, gliding behind the counter to pick up a glass carafe of coffee. She wore a blue gingham apron over a short-cut white dress. A name tag was stuck to her front. She tossed a smile at him as she filled the old men's cups without asking. One nodded appreciatively at her.

"Come on in, darlin'. Lunch menu's on the board. Something I can get for you?" she asked, taking a greater interest in him on her second glance, with a perfect white smile that didn't let up, even as she spoke. If she liked what she saw, he could at least take it as a sign he wasn't looking too worse for wear. Before he could say a word in reply, she pulled a cup and saucer out from under the counter, and set to filling it for him.

The man in the back kept on going, loud even over the hiss of a grill, the clatter of metal against metal.

"Thanks," he said, though he didn't move. "I'm looking for DG, she working today?"

The girl piqued an eyebrow. "Well now –"

There was a _bang_ from the kitchen, and she flinched as a wordless shout of frustration resounded from the kitchen. Just as quickly, a dark-haired girl came rushing out from the back, hair tied in pigtails that curled down over her shoulder.

She hadn't noticed him. Cain's heart near skipped as DG muttered apologetically at her co-worker. The wry smile that she wore was the most welcome sight that he'd seen in far too long. "Carter's decided he doesn't like the job I did in the storeroom."

"Well, that's 'cause it took him a month to put it back the way he liked it after the _last_ time you rearranged it," the blonde said. "Hey, DG, there's –"

She didn't finish. She didn't need to. DG stood, and saw him. Her blue eyes went wide, and her smile went out like a light. He didn't know if he'd ever seen someone go so pale so fast. Whatever words he'd been planning to greet her with, he found he couldn't say them. He could only stand still as she watched him, blinking disbelievingly as if she'd seen a ghost.

The blonde girl had gone from interested to really interested. "What's going on, Deege?"

DG ignored her, but the words seemed to spur her to action all the same. She came around the counter, walking slowly and steadily, her eyes running over him, up and down and back again. The old men along the counter turned their heads to watch her as she passed them.

She stopped barely a foot away from him. He opened his mouth, but she beat him to it.

"Say it," she said, still staring up at him as if he'd go up in a cloud of smoke.

A half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Hey there, pr–"

The rest of the words died inside of him as the air was knocked clean from his lungs. She threw herself at him, slender arms winding their way around his neck. There was nothing for him to do but wrap his own arms around her waist, pull her in close. Her fingers were digging tight into his shoulders, not about to let him pull back, even if he'd intended to.

He didn't.

* * *

**Author's Note**: An insanely big thank you to all my readers, reviewers, and subscribers. Seriously, 100 story alert subscriptions? You guys rock my poptart. Second, the chapter title is taken from the song "No Light, No Light" by Florence + the Machine, which has been settled as the main theme of this story. Go onto YouTube and give it a listen, it's amazing. Third, since there's not enough story left to cover a sequel, this piece has about 4-6 chapters left until the end. I know what I said, forget what I said. There's also a possibility that it might, might, _might_ go "M" before the end. This is your just-in-case warning. (Probably a stand-alone chapter with warnings written in Christmas lights that could be skipped for anyone who's followed this far and doesn't want to go THAT far.) Thanks again, guys, leave me one if you're so inclined. Oh, and fourth, look, it wasn't even a whole month!


	37. What Stays and What Fades Away

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run  
**

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_When Last We Met: On the orders of the ailing Lavender, Cain has travelled to the Other Side to bring DG back from exile. But events at the ruins on the southmost edge of the O.Z. still hang heavily between them... and neither one has ever been known to give up without a fight._

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**Chapter Thirty Seven: What Stays and What Fades Away**

Wyatt Cain spent the better part of an hour sitting on a stool, watching DG bustle about the diner. Every so often, she'd cast him a sideways glance, a nervous smile, as if reassuring herself over and again that he wouldn't disappear on her. She didn't speak to him, he imagined that her mind was working far too fast and furious to even contemplate such a thing. Still, he couldn't say that he was disappointed; after all, watching her, seeing her with his own eyes for the first time in weeks upon weeks...

No, it wasn't disappointing at all.

The second waitress – _Phoebe, _her name-tag read – was a little more forthcoming. She had attempted chatting amiably before she'd come to the realisation that she couldn't wheedle more than one-word answers out of him; she'd gone on to other customers, greeted by name and serviced with a sunny grin.

Diners came and went. The hour spilled over into the next, and still DG moved like stopping for even a moment was not an option, distinctly ignoring the small section of counter that Cain was occupying. Finally, he decided there was nothing for it, cleared his throat, and called her over.

"You plan on taking a breath any time soon, darlin'?" he asked, keeping his voice low so that the din of the other patrons would hide what he had to say.

"My shift is almost over," she said, and gave him a tremulous smile. "Give me that long to figure out what I'm going to do about you."

He smirked, nodded, and let her be. His sudden appearance had rattled her, that much was blatantly obvious, and despite what it seemed, he'd given plenty of thought as to the kinks he was going to cause in her life, and what it was going to take to iron them out. He was on his second cup of coffee when he began to wonder if he ought to have waited at the house for her. It was a relief when she came out of the back, uniform abandoned for a pair of slacks and coat, and a man on her heels.

"Thanks, Carter," she mumbled, never once glancing over her shoulder. The look she gave Cain was near to desperate as she maneuvered around the far end of the counter. _Let's go, now_, the look said. He knew it well. He was on his feet when she reached him.

"I haven't said yes yet," he said, and then pulled up short. "This him?"

"Yes," she said, her cheeks tinged pink. Her eyes caught Cain's; he raised an eyebrow. "Carter, Cain. Cain, Carter."

"Where you from?" Carter asked, impertinent.

"Central City," Cain said.

"Nebraska. We're going to go. I'll see you on Sunday, Carter." She wrapped a hand around Cain's wrist and tugged him from the diner; Cain allowed himself to be pulled along, chuckling. Here was a girl he hadn't seen in far too long; clever, quick-tongued, and stubborn as hell. Carter called the kid's name once before the bell was ringing and the door was shutting behind them.

"Nebraska?" he asked.

She let go his arm to fumble in her bag. She didn't speak until she'd fished out a set of keys. "I'll explain later," she said, directing him over to a beat-up, faded green pick up. Rust had begun to eat at the wheel-wells and bumpers. A vehicle he'd never laid eyes on, but he knew it all the same. It had belonged to her adopted family, once upon a time. Now it was hers, and she offered him up another smile, this one near to genuine. "Get in."

The old man – a good friend of Hank's before the storm a year before, he'd learned – was nowhere to be seen, his truck gone by the time they arrived at the farmstead. Cain was glad for it, he hadn't been looking forward to more awkward confrontations with the locals. At least, not just then. The storm, the long day, the walk in the sun was all catching up to him. He wanted nothing more than to sit quietly for a spell.

Watching DG worry at her bottom lip the entire ride home, however, told him quiet wasn't what was in store for him.

When she unlocked the front door, she tried to hide the shaking in her hands, but he caught it nonetheless. He said nothing, only followed her inside.

The house was warm after sitting closed up all day, and the air was uncomfortably still. He found himself in a white kitchen, shafts of late afternoon sunlight slanting in what windows hadn't been boarded up. He expected her to start pushing up the sashes to let a bit of breeze in, but instead she began wrenching curtains shut and lowering blinds. She then went about pushing buttons on a monstrosity of a machine that was perched precariously in the window frame on the shady side of the house. Within minutes, it began to hum loudly and belch out cold air. Only then did she turn to him; he'd hoped that the comfort of home would have her looking a little less spooked, but his hope had been in vain.

"I need to get changed," she said, shrugging out of her jacket. "The bathroom is through there if you want to get washed up."

He nodded, and she disappeared into the darkness of the house. He thought better of calling out after her, chewing momentarily on the tip of his tongue. Sighing, he realised that sitting down was out of the question, so he retrieved his pack from outside. He stood a moment on the porch, watching the wind play through the tall grass. The highway beyond was deserted. It was easy to take what strength and comfort he could from the isolation, however eerily familiar it seemed, and when he went back into the house, he was feeling marginally better.

He could hear her moving around upstairs as he washed his hands and face, the steady tread as close to pacing as Cain had ever heard. He'd finished cleaning up, and was standing in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter when he finally heard her come down the stairs. When she saw him, she offered him up another lie of a smile.

"My mother –" was how she began, but that was as far as she got before the struggle for words stopped her short.

"Your mother is just fine, DG," he said, watching her carefully. She looked away, blue eyes going to empty space to try and hide from him the relief there, but it was as much a part of her as breathing, that guilt she'd been carting around. His words washed the worry from her face, and there she was again. "You knew that, though, didn't you?" he found himself asking.

Absently, she nodded. "I thought – I hoped for it. But I didn't know, not really. Not until you told me."

"Didn't trust that red witch to hold up her end of the bargain, then?" he asked, gently as he could. Still, it came out cynical, edged.

"I didn't – listen, I'm not ready to talk about this yet," she said, holding up a hand. "You just got here. I don't even understand _why _you are here."

"Your sister sent me, officially," he said; no use in keeping secrets, now of all times. "But it was your mother that gave me the order."

She didn't reply, not right away. She sat herself down on one of the mismatched chairs that surrounded the kitchen table, hands firmly planted on top of her thighs. She looked at him critically, though he was not one to be fazed by such things. If she wanted elaboration from him, she wasn't about to get it. Not without first putting forth a little trust herself.

"So they think you're the best one to try convince me to go back," she said. It wasn't a question, and it brought a sad little quirk to the corner of her mouth. "With 'try' being the key phrase, of course."

"Of course," he conceded. "And not something I'm willin' to jump into just this minute. I could use a rest. Might be that you want to take one, too. I don't want you wearing yourself out before you tell me your side in all this."

Again she had no response for him but for a half-smile and a nod. And then she was out of her chair, and the conversation was done.

She busied herself for a few minutes making up a bed for him in the room that had once belonged to the units who'd raised her. While alone, Cain poked his nose into a few of the other rooms, but saw nothing of interest. Old furniture, dark wood, cracked windows, and everywhere enough dust to cover a lifetime.

He could not question what had driven her to return to this tomb. Her reasons were her own. And there was very little doubt in his mind that her reasons were hauntingly similar to his own as they'd once been. So he kept his mouth shut, did not pry or push. After all, he could pretend he was on orders all he wanted, but the truth of the matter was that he'd chased her into her exile when she'd once respected him enough to leave him alone in his. That spoke loud enough, without him having to say a damned word.

"Wyatt."

He turned to see her outlined in the door-frame, a dark shadow in the midst of golden afternoon light.

"Room's all made up."

Cain tried a smile, but it came up half-hearted and died quickly. He allowed her to lead him into a back bedroom, where shelves were bare, drawers empty, and the closet was nothing more than a collection of skeletal metal hangers. She had her back to him as she lowered blinds and snapped closed dusty curtains.

"Deege –"

"Sheets are fresh." Her speech was automatic prattle, courtesies she was using as a shield to deflect anything and everything coming at her. He needed to do something before she could start to believe in the wall she was putting up to hide behind, started to think herself impassive and untouchable. "I wasn't expecting – well, I know it's a little bare. This was the first room I cleaned out. So you don't have to –"

His feet chose his path. A few steps to cross the small room, to place his hands on her arms. Her words caught in her throat, jumbling there in confusion at his sudden closeness. Her hands didn't drop the faded, musty-smelling curtain; she gripped it tight in her fists as if it were there to anchor her, but in the next moment she leaned forward ever so slightly, letting her hands rest on the glass of the window. Stiff and still, she leaned _away_ from him, hiding her face behind her tumbling hair. It took patience to coax her into turning and letting go the safety of hiding. When he settled his gaze upon her face she sighed, those sky eyes of hers so very lost.

"Listen," she began, "I'm really tired, and –"

He kissed her then, and it was no sweet, gentle thing. He pinned her to the window, hands steady on her arms to keep her where she was. His kiss was fierce, demanding everything of her mouth as he held it with his own; each breath she took was one that he gave to her first. She took from him eagerly, all reservations tossed to the wayside; so strong and dizzying was her response that he had to break away to drag his sense from the daze she'd put him in. So quick had she turned the tables that he found he was the one struggling to regain control of his breathing.

"Stay with me," he whispered, words that were off his tongue before he could think them through. He became aware that he still had an iron grip on her arms, and reluctantly he let her go. She looked at him with the tiniest hint of a pout on that temperamental little mouth and it was nothing for him to lean down and steal a small kiss as he'd so often imagined. Her eyes could not threaten to drown him with their vast sadness if he did his part to make sure she kept them closed.

"You want me to stay?" she asked, and there was hesitation in each careful word.

He tried to reassure her of his intent. "I just want to be sure you aren't gonna disappear while I'm sleeping."

A long breath of relief escaped her, and she refused to meet his eyes. With a single hand placed on her jaw, he tipped her head back and looked down at her. The pink tinge on the tops of her cheeks betrayed the steadiness in her expression when she finally braved his eyes.

"Darlin'," he began, unsure of what to say, but it was her turn to cut him off.

"I'll nap with you," she said quickly, and tried flashing a grin at him, but the shine in her eyes wasn't there, the whole thing hollow.

It was something near to heaven to stretch his sore frame out on the bed and rest his head upon a pillow. DG curled into his side, her back to his chest, warm and solid and his to hold. She squirmed a bit when he slid an arm around her stomach to keep her close.

His eyes were already falling closed of their own accord when he heard a timid whisper. "I promise I won't disappear while you're sleeping," she said.

But he still woke up alone.

The glow behind the curtains was gone, and all was pale grey light and clinging shadow. The emptiness next to him did not bother him so much as the cold touch of the blankets to his fingers. She'd been gone a long time.

He was slow to sit up, slow in easing the stiffness from his neck and shoulders, still weighted by an exhaustion that went down to the bone. It took him a few moments to lace his boots in the darkness, his fingers clumsy with sleep.

There was no light inside the house. He moved through silent rooms and found nothing. In the kitchen, light from the porch spilled in through the screen door, throwing webs of shadow across the floor. The door squealed sharply as he opened it, the tinny sound of new hinges.

He saw her when she turned toward the sound of the door, and he had to wonder if he was right in disturbing her. At the very edge of the light, she stood at the rail where two corners of the wraparound porch met. To him it seemed she stared out into nothing but blackness, but she was a part of this place, and she knew what lay hidden in the night, the fields and trees, the roads and the fences.

There was a chill in the night that slipped into his clothes as he walked the length of the porch. DG had a smile for him as he approached, tired but freely given. "I thought you were out for the night," she said when he reached her. Immediately she returned her gaze to the darkness beyond the house. She was quiet as he rested one elbow on the railing so he could watch her.

"How long you been out here?" he asked. He reached out, brushed two fingers down the length of her bare arm; cold as ice.

"A while," was the only response she had for him.

"This happen a lot?"

She nodded. "Lately."

"Couldn't be that something is on your mind," he said, and there was a twitch at the corner of her mouth that he could have sworn was almost a smile. "One of us is gonna have to start talking eventually, darlin'. That's the way this works."

"You can go first," she said. "It's only fair."

He wasn't about to argue that point with her. He'd once been told that there were only two theories to arguing with a woman, and neither one worked. The man who'd told him that was long since dead, and Cain had never learned if one theory or the other had ever proven itself. So he kept his tongue in his head, mulling over his thoughts with a calm that only came from long annuals of practice. He took so long with his musing that finally she turned away from her view of night's nothingness to look at him instead.

"Listen, Cain, I'm –"

"They want you home, DG," he said, disliking the way her eyes skipped away guiltily after he'd said it.

"I can't go back, I won't," she said, and her hands curled to fists atop the railing.

"Princess –"

"I won't kill her!" she said sharply, all but shouting, and at once, it was over. The fists were gone and her hands were gripping the rail again, so tightly that the wood seemed liable to splinter. She shook her head fiercely. "I won't, Cain, I won't." There was iron in her voice, brittle and hard, and he worried then that she'd break before she bent.

It was this thought that caused him to slip an arm around her, a reaction tempered by concern, an automatic reaching of his hand that she tried to push away. When he caught her wrist, he used the hold to draw her against him, and in his arms she shook and fought and cursed him for a traitor, and when her words stung him most, he silenced her with a kiss that stole the breath from her lungs. She tasted of fury and fear, and when she broke away, it was with a gasp.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into his shirt-front. "I won't. I can't. I'm _sorry_."

"None of that," he said; he gave her another gentle tug, and she put up little resistance, folding herself against him. She'd closed herself, and was utterly quiet; he felt the tension go out of her, her very being seeming to diminish until he was left holding nothing but a trembling slip of a girl. The darkness crept in around them, the wind and the stars and the endless prairie surrounding them and swallowing them whole.

_I won't kill her_, she'd said. So it was true; DG was linked somehow to Lavender's demise, though how or why he could not begin to guess. He wondered then how much she'd learned from Glinneth on that last day in the ruins, after he'd left her alone in that palace of dust and decay. She was as immovable in her course now as she had been then, and he wasn't sure if he had it in him to persuade her to act against her heart.

He didn't know how long they stood out there in the night's chill, there in the shadows that dwelt at the edge of the light. She'd gone back to the rail, refusing to simper and sigh against his chest; he stood at her back, closer than he'd ever allowed himself to get, arms to either side to hem her in. Together in silence, they watched the sky as the clouds rolled in, reducing the moon to a pale glow behind a veil of deepest, darkest grey. All too soon, the wind picked up, flattening the fields with a deafening rush and smelling of summer rain.

He lowered his lips to her ear. "We should head on inside."

"Not yet," she said, placing her icy hands on his. A faint, distant rumble of thunder. And there, flashes of light illuminating the purple-bellied storm clouds that clung to the black horizon. His princess shivered. "There's another storm coming."

Cain frowned deeply, and did not reply.

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**Author's Note**: An insanely giddy thank you for all the positive feedback from my last chapter. Seriously, my lovelies, I don't know what to say, except "Wow, thank you," while beaming and blushing.

This one has another chapter title taken from this story's theme ("No Light, No Light" by Florence + the Machine). Currently wrapping up editting and reformatting "Of Light" and next on the list is "Until the Fall". This story is almost at its end. Can you believe I'm already thinking on my next project? Hmm...


	38. Heavy in Your Arms

**Author's Note**: A rating change, because this chapter contains material that is rated **M**, **NSFW**, or my personal favourite, **NNA**. Near the end of the chapter, so please don't skip reading the whole thing if stronger rated material isn't your thing. I think I made the point of no return pretty obvious for those that don't.**  
**

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run  
**

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_When Last We Met: Trapped in exile on the Other Side without the cooperation of his princess, Cain is forced to sit while DG makes sense of what she's done and what she thinks is right. He still holds hope that he can convince her to return home to the O.Z., but without fully understanding her true reasons for running, he can't know what good his words will do.**  
**_

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**Chapter Thirty Eight: Heavy In Your Arms**

It was not the downpour that chased them into the house, but the wind. It was a relentless wind, and cruel, with chilled fingers to seek them out beneath the safety of the porch roof, driving the cold sheets of rain at them until they were forced to retreat into the house.

While Cain was content to stand at a window and watch the sky light up and the rain lash the yard, DG was not. She lingered on the threshold behind the flimsy screen door, each flash of sheet lightning illuminating her eyes and casting her cheeks with muted shadow. The rush of the rain against the canvas stretched over the attic roof was a hollow, haunted sound, but for all that pounding and for all the thunder, the house was quiet. Where once he'd cherished these silences with her, he could hardly stand the emptiness between them.

It wasn't up to him to begin this time, he knew, and so he kept his tongue and watched the fury of nature unleash upon the little farmstead. He had to admire it somehow, this summer storm; for all its wildness, and for its beauty. He thought it likely DG had stood just where she was the night before, as Azkadellia's storm had swept across the prairie, no fear in her heart at the sight of the funnel cloud, numbed to it. Was she truly as reckless as all that, or had she sensed the magic as the wind had overwhelmed her?

Had she been waiting for him?

"You can't put this off forever, darlin'," he said quietly.

She shifted against the door-frame, careful not to look at him. "I can do this for days."

"That there is true enough, but it don't change anything." Still, had to chuckle at her brass, but when a strong gust of wind rattled the screen door in its frame, she flinched, hugged herself all the tighter, and tried to brush it off. She was immovable, unbending. She did not jump at the wind.

"I'm not looking to change anything. I'm just not ready to talk about it yet. Is that all right with you?"

"What if it's not?" he asked. She had no reply for him, and the minutes stretched out long and silent, with only the sound of the rain and thunder to fill them. "Well, fine, princess. How about this, then? If you aren't gonna start talking, I will." He was of half a mind to start tearing into her, a sudden and spiteful whim, and he was forced to pause and bite back an onslaught of frustration and long suppressed anger. It startled him, the intensity with which it came on, and the will it took to put it back where it belonged.

"We did this earlier, and –"

"And," he cut in, "we'll keep doing it 'til we get it finished."

"Damn it, Cain," she swore quietly, shaking her head, that dark curtain of hair. "Why are you doing this to me?" Dry eyed, disbelieving, there was no heartbreak in her voice, though even in the shadow he could read it plain in her face. Sighing, he walked over to the door and took up leaning against the other side of the frame. She had the courtesy to pull her eyes from the storm to watch him, intrigued at least. Closeness, he had found, was crucial – and preferable, besides.

"I think you're too scared to admit that you already know why," he said, trying to catch those sky eyes with his, but she seemed to have fixed her gaze on his throat, a safe enough place to easily avoid whatever it was in his own eyes she didn't want to see. "Maybe I wasn't right to leave you the way I did, and I know it wasn't right to stay away so long without word. If this was just about you needing to run, then I'd let it be, but you've dug your heels in here, haven't you? You don't want to go back."

"I do want to go back," she said. "I want to go home. I told you, _I told you,_ that I wanted to go home. But I can't, ever."

"The witch tell you that?"

"Cain –"

"Did she?" he pressed. When she stayed silent, watching him sullenly, he raised an eyebrow in question. It didn't work. He sighed, aggravated; across from him, the girl flinched. "What the hell are you so scared of, DG?"

"I'm not scared," she muttered, meek and petulant. A gust of wind tore through the gnarled old tree that towered over the yard, sending a flurry of shadow and porchlight dancing across their feet; their own shadows stretched black and unbroken across the floor.

"You've been scared all along," he said, shaking his head. "Not willing to admit that it was out of your hands."

"But it wasn't!" she said, her lips breaking their firm, impassive line to frown. "And my mother knew. She knew what she'd done when she saved me and how it would end. She knew what she was doing when she sent me to Finaqua with you. If not for Azkadellia – no, _no, _I won't let her sacrifice herself for me, not again."

"That's her choice to make, darlin'," he said, gentle as he was able, but he knew it wasn't enough. "It isn't up to you or me to say if –"

"She made that choice for me," DG said, and her chin gave a quiver. It was only then that he noticed she was trembling all over, head to toe. "When I was little, and the sorceress – when she –" She struggled to put to words the heaviness in her heart, and her tongue was losing the battle. Quickly, he put a hand on her arm to steady her; her skin was cold, and it prickled beneath his fingertips.

"I remember," he said. Gods above, he'd never forget. The eerie, singsong voice of the child sorceress, a mother's wail of anguish, and a dark haired angel dead in her bed, those sky eyes of his princess lifeless. Through the eyes of another, a vision consumed by the fog of time and pain, he had watched – they _all _had watched the moment that the fate of the country was sealed with one girl's ambition, and one mother's hope, placed squarely on the shoulders of a child who would not remember.

"She gave me life, Cain," she said, and then laughed her frustration. "Of course she gave me _life_, she's my mother, but – she gave me her _Light_, and every second I've spent at her side, I've taken more! Every touch, every look, every _breath_. From the moment I was back in the Zone. Don't you see? I have to stay away. I have to." Her pale eyes burned with determination, and for a moment he was struck speechless as he finally, truly began to understand. "I wish there was another way, but –"

"I don't think you're seeing things clear yourself," he said carefully.

"I'm not? Do you know what I see? Do you?"

He took a deep, steadying breath. "I think you see more fault you need to make amends for. I think you see this as something you can fix, but you don't got the right. No one does."

"She did," DG whispered, and as she turned her head to stare into the darkness through the screen, the soft porchlight refracted over the tears caught on her lashes.

"Princess," he said, sharper than he'd meant to, "they need you."

"They always need me," she said, voice hoarse with the effort of holding back.

"That's –"

"Do you need me, Cain?"

The argument he'd been trying to piece together in his mind fell apart as her words cut through him, unbearably deep. Thought and pulse and breath all seemed to stop within him; even the rain outside seemed to slow. She watched him so closely, and when neither assent nor denial fell immediately from his lips, she went back to her night and its rain. He struggled to regain his tongue, and though it was true he thought briefly on his own exile and his course of redemption, it was the solid warmth of her that came back to him in a rush, the memory of so many midnights with her tucked close, and the lonely, empty nights that had followed since she'd gone.

"I think I do," he said, and if there was the faintest tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth, he did his best to hide it as her eyes returned to him. "That all right by you?"

Mutely, she nodded. He reached out a hand and she came to him. His arms curled around the small of her back as she folded herself against him; the chill of her bare arms, the press of her icy cheek seeped through his shirt-front and set the hair on the back of his neck to standing. He leaned his weight back into the frame so that he might take on her weight, as well.

"Not going to lie to you, DG. I was sent here to fetch you home," he said, his mouth against her hair, and yet even this was a lie, a well-intentioned omission that would guilt him and shame him and come back to haunt him, he knew, but he could not bring himself to add to her burdens and cares. "I want you to think long and hard on this."

"I have, Wyatt," she said, sounding so tired. "Every waking moment since I left. I can't go back."

_She cannot go back._

"You shouldn't have left," he said, and within, he branded himself a liar and a coward. "I shouldn't have let you."

"You didn't get a say." She looked up at him, and there was sweetness and love in her face, shining through the worry and doubt he'd grown accustomed to seeing.

"I want one now," he said, near forcing the words until they came out a choked whisper. Her brows knit together as she watching him, looking in his eyes for an explanation she knew he wouldn't readily give. And perhaps whatever she found there frightened her, for in the next moment, she'd ducked her head down against his chest to hide her face, snaking her arms around his back to hold herself as close to him as she could. Tight, she held him, until he felt like all the strength in her thin little body was wrapped around him, spooked and cold and quivering, but he was done letting her run and hide. Slow and careful, he ran a hand along the side of her face and coaxed her into looking at him. "I'm not asking you to up and drop everything here. Put an end to this, give it a proper goodbye, and come home with me."

She'd been fighting back tears, but they fell as she lost her focus. A few pale, shining streaks on her face for him to run his thumbs across, but the evidence of her battles couldn't be wiped so clean away. Still, she gave him a smile for his trouble, and it was enough. "Wyatt, I want to," she said in a voice close to breaking, "I _want _to go home, but –"

"Just _think _on it, darlin'," he said. "It's all I'm asking."

She gave a tremulous sigh, and nodded. "Fine," she conceded, but the smile was gone. She withdrew her arms, sliding her palms up her chest, and he thought she meant to push herself away, but in the next instant her small hands curled around his parted shirt-front and she was tugging him down, and it seemed almost by pure accident that their mouths met. A sweet kiss, light as the rain pattering in the yard and just as cool to the touch, and when she pulled away it was only to sink her teeth deep into her own lip, squeeze her eyes shut tight, and turn away. And damn him, he let her go.

"Goodnight," she said quietly, offering him that lie of a smile she'd gotten so good at. "We'll start figuring things out tomorrow." And then she was walking away, gone out of the kitchen and around the corner. He made to follow her, but the loud creak of the stairs echoed through the dark, empty house, and he stopped. She all but ran up those stairs, and the finality of her door closing severed what little courage he'd had to chase after her.

He closed the back door on the rainy night and walked slow through the house; at the bottom of the stairs he paused, but there were no lights to give her away, no noises to betray her. He imagined her sitting in the dark in the broken eaves of her childhood home, caught in a spiral of blame and guilt that had a stranglehold over every part of her.

With a heavy heart, Cain went to bed. When he opened the curtains in his borrowed bedroom, the water running down the windowpane cast jagged shadows against the wall. Somehow, the darkness was not so complete, the gloom lightened, and he could almost believe that sleep would be easy in coming this second time around.

He slipped off his shirt and settled himself into the bed between sheets that were cool and stiff. On his back, one arm resting behind his head, he stared at the ceiling and tried to imagine DG above him, alone and awake in the dark as he was. He did not have to guess at that. Nights were a haunted time, and the girl had her share of ghosts following in her wake. He tried to force his thoughts away from DG, but she consumed him as purpose always had. He found himself replaying the events of the day over and again in his mind, the storm that had swept him in, the lonely highway that had carried him, the diner where he'd found her, the house she'd brought him home to.

Home. This was not their home. He could not say he missed the O.Z. just yet, though the _feeling_ was there, a longing and an emptiness that nothing could set to rights but by the familiarity of home, of the twin suns and rosy, painted sky, the burnished towers of Central City gleaming in the waning light. Eventually, as was always the way, he thought on his home by the creek, the house he'd raised from the ashes of the first, the rickety dock, and the barn he hadn't finished. It was a reassurance that Jeb would check up on the place, but images of the old house refused to leave him; the collapsing cabin, the tin suit, and the swampy countryside slowly reclaiming the desecrated remains of what had once been his home and his life.

Cain sat up in the bed and ran a hand over his face. His eyelids felt heavy, his body heavier, but while his exhaustion nagged at him, sleep was more elusive, begging for chase when he held no desire. He knew that dark dreams waited him if even his waking moments were tormented by a past that would never be still or quiet. With his bare back against the cool wood of the headboard, Cain leaned his head back against the carved edge of it, eyes closed, so very tired, but the creak of a floorboard outside the door made him open them again.

She slipped through the door as a shadow might. He remembered her magic and how she'd conjured a darkness to hide her, but this was no illusion, as he caught a glimpse of pale skin here and light fabric there. His heart made its way into his throat as he sat up straighter, but she was beside the bed before he could find his tongue and beside _him_ before he could use it. The soft mattress dipped under her weight, and she knelt next to him and he found himself glad for her presence and his blood seemed to hum a little faster. It was a familiar feeling, forgotten and dizzying, and, looking at the girl beside him, _troubling._

He did not trust his mouth to do his speaking, because the first word that fought for voice was _'no'. _ He swallowed it back but didn't find it to his liking, and while he struggled with himself, she leaned forward and kissed him; it was soft and imperfect, and it tasted of her hesitance. Unable to keep his hands to himself, unable to keep his priorities straight, he reached out and wrapped his fingers loosely around her wrist, giving her a tug and guiding her to sit on his legs so that he could face her properly, depending on the blanket over top him to keep the whole thing decent. That, and the constant whispering of his conscience, reminding him of why he could not have that which he wanted, and his abject disappointment at that fact startled and discomfited him to no end.

DG took his hand. She was as conscientious as she always had been, expecting rebuke or indifference and when she found none, she tangled her fingers through his, delaying the inevitable moment when one of them would have to break the silence. And the minutes dragged along and her hand warmed in his. The sky outside the window gave another feeble flash, but there was no thunder to follow. The storm was passing, but the rain went on and on.

"Tell me that I shouldn't be here," she said, so hushed and staring down at their hands with a fixation.

Resisting the urge, so many urges, he said, "Don't think I can, darlin'."

She said nothing in return, going back to the comfort and safety of the unspoken. Her whole body tensed for a moment, her legs tightening on his, and he closed his eyes, wondering absently if the gods of this world would hear his prayers. And then finally she did speak, mumbled really, something inaudible that might have been an apology, and then she was letting go his fingers and shifting her weight to move off him, and in an instant his hands were anchoring on her of their own volition to keep her right where she was. He found her legs to be sinfully bare, and suddenly he was clutching her, fingers dug into the soft skin of the underside of her thighs, pulling her into him for a kiss of such force, his head was knocked against the oaken headboard. His heart seemed to skip a beat, and time jumped with it, for it seemed only a moment later that his hands were tangled in her hair and he was breaking away from her in desperate need of a lungful of air, and oh, how that first free breath shuddered.

"What is it you want, Deege?" he asked, trying to be tender, trying to be easy, but somehow she'd scooted closer and she was just about in his lap, and his words came out low and barely sounded like his own, but the _words_ were his, because he'd said them before, more times than he would have cared to admit. He'd pressed her before, wanting to hear from her lips that she wanted _him_, though he'd never expected to be asking it of her like this. _I want too much_, she'd said the night he had cornered her in her room to say his goodbyes. _I want too much, _she'd said that night on the road in the rain, away from the lights of some sorry little village where they'd stayed and mapped their route south. And now he pressed her again, and she sat back and shook her head.

"Don't make me say it," she whispered. "You know it's you. You always knew."

"And that's not too much to want?" he asked, sliding his hands out of her hair, a delicate task, before placing them on her shoulders. A forlorn hope of relative safety.

"Right now it seems like just enough," she said, and he couldn't say he'd ever heard her more certain of herself.

"It does," he said, and his jaw clenched hard in an effort to stop before he said too much, but there was no stopping this now, there never had been, he knew that too well. "Nothing I want more than to lay you down right here, but you know we can't let –"

"I thought we were done running," she said, bloody stubborn to no end.

"We are." The words were an absolution, and Cain wondered himself if he believed in them, the sweet promise, too simple and too good to be true. "No more running," he agreed, more than a little surprised at his grasp on coherency as she placed her palms flat on his chest to better feel the thundering of his heart. The night's storm paled in comparison to what raged inside him then. She tilted her head down to kiss him nice and easy, and the taste of her hesitance was gone, replaced with something he couldn't name. She leaned further into him, hands sliding up and over his shoulders, arms winding around his neck as she gave in to his mouth, and he to her warmth and her trust. His body betrayed his resolve and his purpose, hardening against her despite every godsdamned sane reason not to, and he abandoned pretence to embrace the bittersweet ache of his undoing.

He meant for it to be a gradual thing, a dance to draw out, languid and lasting. It certainly started out that way, kisses soft and tender, moments melting one into the next, a breath, a whisper, a sigh. There was a smile on her face, he could feel the curve of it on her lips as he captured them with his, but all too soon those innocent kisses deepened, and his hands were no longer content to keep to inviolable ground. But where her hands were eager and shameless, he'd always had a tendency toward thoroughness. He allowed his hands to map her shoulder blades, her back, the dip of her waist and the angles of her hips that always lent to the illusion of boyishness. When he slid his hands around to her backside, his fingers playing with the edges of her thin undergarment, she gave a gasp and pulled from him to mumble a broken curse against his mouth. He smirked and squeezed her flesh gently, watching closely as her head went back to expose her throat, the very tips of her long, dark hair brushing against his thumbs as he dug them into her a little tighter. He placed a kiss on the soft joining of her neck and shoulder, the next on her collarbone, a third a little lower on the swell of a breast bare beneath her camisole.

There was no mistaking the determination of her hands as she drew the garment over her head. Almost as soon as she'd thrown it aside, her hands returned to him, running over his chest then, searing a line of slow burning fire on his skin. Her mouth lowered to his, demanding, unyielding, and the storm in him raged all the more fiercely as he dragged his hands heavily up her bare back, holding onto her as if she could anchor him, when every bit of sense that could find voice said that she was like to be what drowned him instead. All but naked in his arms, nimble fingers and wicked tongue teasing him within an inch of sanity, was there ever a more glorious way to find his end?

She shivered when he touched her breast with his fingers, and cried out when he found it with his mouth. A wave of desire swept over him, consuming him to the point of breathlessness, and he groaned low in his throat when her little hands crept down between them to tug at his belt, insistent but inefficient.

"You sure you're wanting this, darlin'?" he made himself ask, picking the words from the haze in his mind and unsure himself of their meaning. To desire was a base instinct, one that bodies had won over minds for long ages, and he was not the first man to fall to the charms of a girl who might not have had the slightest idea of what she was unleashing inside of him. Still, there'd been a time in his life when he'd prided himself on the tight rein he held on his emotions, the control over his every action and ambition, and damned if his conscience would let him go down without a fight, when already his heart and his body had taken the leap.

DG sighed. He reached up and put a careful hand on her jaw, and felt her throat go taut as she swallowed hard. "Do you, Wyatt?" was her response, ever avoiding confrontation with her questions. "Do you want me?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation, "but that don't mean –" But the words died in his throat as she sat back on his legs, her backside cradled against his knees. Her hands, shaking as they were, worked his belt open. The soft clink of the buckle echoed inside his head, shutting out most every thought except those that whispered of want and will and desperation. And maybe he'd be damned to hell for this sin or a thousand others, but he had none of himself to spare for the caring. He was lost to her. He always had been.

Warm, deft hands slipped inside his trousers, and he gave a sharp hiss at the sudden intrusion. It was almost nothing to wrap his fingers firmly around her arms and pull her back up to him. The blanket was tangled somewhere around his knees now, but it put him out of reach while opening her up to him as her legs spread wider to accommodate his thick hips. He claimed her mouth with his before she had the chance to argue. She let go a soft moan against him that he imagined had been born as such, but she went pliant in his arms as she gave herself over. He slid a hand down between them, beneath the damp fabric of her panties, and another cry fell from her lips as she broke away from his kiss. When he pulled his hand away, fingers slick and glistening, she was close to panting and he'd lost his grasp on what restraint remained to him.

With a little coaxing, Cain had her raised up on her knees, and he slipped his trousers down over his hips. His body, his hands, his mouth all moved with a familiarity he thought he'd long since forgotten as he took himself in hand, the other finding purchase on her hip and guiding her down to him, impatiently nudging the imposing fabric aside to find the soaked heat beneath. He slid into her, the angle wrong, the fit tight, and without thought or care he shifted his hips and pulled her into him, and _there_...

She gave a whimper and her nails bit into his shoulder, and for a moment the world around them refused to turn. She was quick to recover with a ragged gasp but there was no mistaking that first, tiny cry. Shame filled him as she trembled atop him, and he wrapped his arms around her. He tried to ignore the scorching, silken feel of her, the pulsing of their bodies, the unrelenting pressure and insatiable urge to _move_; tried to focus on her sweet mouth, on the stillness and the beat of rain on the window, but there was no stopping the rush between them now, and even as her lips quivered, she drew him into a kiss without restraint, wild and devouring. His hands spread over the gentle curves of her backside, rocking her against him and fighting the tide of inevitability.

It wouldn't be a long struggle. Time bled away and the dark bedroom around them hazed into oblivion as he lost himself to the selfish chasing of his own pleasure. Their pace was slow, he tried to be easy, tried not to hurt her again, but once begun he would have had better luck trying to stop the rain from falling. He was surrounded by her, consumed by her, and each time she sank down upon him, filled herself with him, she overwhelmed him, again and again. Each hitching breath that escaped her lips coursed through his veins like fire, and when she clung to his shoulders, abandoned herself to his guidance and rhythm, he knew his fighting had come to its end. He buried his face in her neck as the world around him went blinding white; his release tore through him with an intense fury that ached as he spilled himself within her.

A promise, broken. Purpose and passion had forced his hand, but not his heart. No, now body and soul, he was hers, and she was his.

Slowly, Cain came back to himself, dizzy, his head swimming with fog. She kissed his mouth, and ran a thumb down his cheek. He felt boneless, weak, and it was no small feat to even summon the energy to smile beneath her lips, and yet somehow he managed, and more, touching her gently, her face, her hair, her breast. Their bodies, slick with sweat, began to chill and her shivering began anew, yet neither of them wanted to move, to untangle their limbs, pull apart. Just a moment more.

"No more running," she whispered, her forehead pressed to his, and gods forgive him, but he wanted to believe her.


	39. Liars, Ghosts, and Thieves

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run  
**

* * *

_When Last We Met: After chasing DG to the Other Side, Cain finally learns the reason behind her leaving, the truth given to her by the powerful Glinneth, and he knows that convincing her to return to the O.Z. - his only hope of going home - will not be as simple or easy as it is in the stories. _**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty Nine: Liars, Ghosts, and Thieves**

Cain awoke to warmth, and peace, and morning light.

DG was asleep beside him, his arm pinned beneath her head, her pretty face delicate and still in slumber.

The night before came back to him in fits and flashes. In his arms, DG sighed, shifted, and slept on.

Gentle and slow, he lifted his head from the pillow so that he might get a better look at her. It was rare that he saw her calm like this. Vulnerable, almost, in some strange small way. It was enough to put a smile on his face, and though he knew the moment would come and go, he hoped there'd be more like it.

Her lips parted and she sighed again in her sleep. His body stirred with all sorts of imaginings involving that little mouth. But then wasn't the time. As much as he wanted her, he wasn't about to let desire take over. He'd crossed over a line and knew it, one that was marked very clear with flags and fences, and yet somehow they'd still managed to jump right over it together. Such was her influence, and his weakness.

She didn't wake when he slowly worked his arm out from beneath her. It was all he could do not to groan as he stood, his muscles aching. There was an echo of familiarity to it. His body hadn't seen use such as the night before in far too long.

He was next to silent as he moved through the dark, dusty house. The only noise to betray his presence at all was the rattle of old pipes as he turned on the hot water. If he'd thought that having a shower and a shave would make him feel as a new person, he was wrong. Refreshed, yes, but his burdens and his gnawing uncertainties did not wash away as easily as dirt, sweat, and blood.

_Son of a –_

The blood. Thin, brittle veins of it dried on his skin. And instead of shaming him like it properly should, it only served to make him angry. Angry at her for withholding, angry at himself for not noticing. The kid was a terrible liar. He should have –

He dressed carefully, deliberate with the buttons.

The sun was only just over the horizon when he stepped out onto the porch, and immediately he was struck by the beauty of the place. The grass in the field was slick and shining with the night's rain, catching the light from the rising sun with a dazzling brilliance that had him near holding his breath. But he couldn't, no, not when he could greedily pull in each lungful of the cool, damp morning air, smelling and tasting of fallen rain.

The air didn't taste any different. He could almost pretend the sun was the same, lonely as it was. But could he _stay_?

It wasn't much longer after that heavy thought had crossed his mind that DG joined him out on the porch. Somewhere between the bed and the door, she'd managed to find a pair of pants to slip those pale legs into, and she'd pulled her hair back and tied it at her neck, but little else seemed to have occurred to her. Despite the chill, her arms were bare, and she was hugging herself when she shouldered the door open gently.

"Morning." She gave him a shy smile.

He reached out a hand and she came to him without hesitation, tucking herself into his side with all the practice and grace of one who might actually belong there. It gives him reason to pause, to think, and to keep his tongue from clucking reproach at her.

"Sleep well?" he asked, flagrant with his baiting. Tired as she was, she hadn't a clue.

She gave a nod, but offered nothing further. She snuggled in, getting comfy, and for a fleeting moment he felt terrible for what he was about to do, but she was dead set against running, and – and what about the _staying_?

"Sore?" He pressed his lips to her temple, held his breath as he waited.

"No," she said, so soft-spoken, "I'm fine."

And there it was. He closed his eyes, exhaled slow. And then before she knew what was happening, he turned them both, pinning her to the rail. His arms on either side, he caged her in. She was left with nothing to look at but his face as he glared down at her, and he saw her visibly quail as she met his eyes, but even that could not lessen his resolve.

"Darlin'," he said, measured, careful.

She set her lips in a grim line, completely uninviting and yet he had no other urge than to lean down and take that sweet mouth with his, hard. But in the light of day, without the ruinous influence of shadow and rain and sinful bare skin, he had a far tighter grip on his control. She looked up at him with those not-so-innocent sky eyes, and it was easy to see, to feel and know why suddenly keeping his impulses in check hardly seemed worth his time.

Her lips curled in a stubborn smirk, and she tipped her head to one side, raising her chin the slightest fraction. The perfect angle, a dare, a trap.

To buy himself time, Cain let go the rail, a white-knuckled grip that had crept up on him when he'd been falling into those eyes of hers. He settled his hands on her hips, and that smirk of hers faltered. With one sure, deliberate move, he slid his right hand from her hip, down the yielding cottony material that covered her. He ran his hand between her legs, easy but firm, and the smirk disappeared altogether as she winced. Her thighs tightened on him, and he withdrew his hand, resting it lightly on her hip again.

"You should've told me," he said, and was surprised to hear the hurt in his voice, betraying the impassive mask he fought to keep on his face.

"You wouldn't have touched me if I had," she said.

His fingers dug a little harder into her hips of their own accord, and he did nothing to correct it. He held onto her if only to steady himself as she continued to speak, struggling with the balance between remorse and relief.

"I didn't want you to push me away. I know it was wrong, but I – I wanted so many times to come to you, and I _know _you, Wyatt, and you would never, ever –"

"That aside, DG, you should have –"

"I should have done it a long time ago," she said, so fiercely and suddenly that she gasped. Words never meant to be said, but there they were, heated and raw and _spoken_. She took a deep long breath, and he said nothing, for no other reason than he could not know what _could_ be said, not on his part, no. She stared up at him with her wide, honest eyes and he could not look away, not from so rare and secret a truth as those eyes told. "Cain, when you came back to Central City, I said that I understood why you left me the way you did, but I was _lying,_ to you and to myself. I didn't have a clue, and I was scared you knew it. All I heard was your goodbye. Nothing's changed since then, except that now I think I _do _understand."

She paused, biting her lip. He looked down at her, incredulous, and it crossed his mind that she was about to take his silence as reason to keep on with her reasoning, and before she had the chance, he brought a hand up to cradle the side of her face, leaning down to kiss her soundly. She opened beneath him quickly, eagerly, and soon his hand had tangled in her hair and the other had slid to the small of her back, pressing her to him. The closeness went to his head as she rolled her hips into his, and he was lost in the tug of her hands and the teasing of her tongue.

"You love me," she whispered raggedly, breaking the kiss to mumble against his cheek. A brief moment of fumbling with his shirt-front buttons and then a cold little hand was slipping inside, running up his chest and around his neck, holding him down to her. She found his mouth again, and kissed him long and lingering.

"Yes," he said roughly, pulling away to search her face. She'd been in his bed, she'd slept in his arms, denial was futile now. No more running. "And I want to take you home."

"I can't –"

"_Princess_ –"

"You want to take me home? I've never felt like I _had_ a home," she said, trying to be light but he could see the pain clear and fresh as day on her face. "I don't think I know where that would be." She bit down on her lip, swollen from his kiss.

"It's not here?" he asked, baiting her again. Shameless, really, but his desire for answers and honesty was being overridden by something far more powerful, and for the life of him, he could not pull away.

"You know it's not," she said, near to sorrowful, "not here or anywhere."

"The Zone is where you belong, DG," he said, and she started to shake her head. "_With me_," he added, the conviction strong and she stopped moving all together, ducking her head to hide the burn of her cheeks. And like that they stayed for a long time, still and quiet until the fervour had died and she was able to take a deep breath and look him in the eye.

"I want to believe you," she said with a withering edge that hinted at tears. "I'm sorry about – about before. I should have told you."

"And I could have been easier on you," he said, swallowing hard. It was difficult to think reasonably about the night before. He'd been selfish, starved, and he'd only taken. That one sobering thought was crueller by far than any other he'd had since waking, and the peaceful morning around them lost some of its light.

"It didn't hurt much," she said, and she looked up at him with an encouraging smile.

He opened his mouth to speak, but it was at that moment that the sound of crunching gravel broke across the morning birdsongs. He chuckled at how quickly DG untangled herself from his arms and jumped to a respectable distance – still within arm's reach, he noted with satisfaction.

"Or not," she mumbled as she tugged up the neckline of her slim-strapped camisole. Smirking, he reached out and brushed his hand over her breast, still bare beneath the thin material, and his smile became strained as the tip hardened beneath his thumb. She swatted at him, swearing under her breath as she skirted around him and disappeared into the house, calling him a number of foul names in the process.

He was still smiling when the familiar green pick-up pulled into the yard, and had moved to stand at the top of the steps when the old man from the neighbouring farmstead clambered out.

"Some storm last night," Kelley said by way of a greeting.

"Sure was," Cain agreed. "She held up, though." He looked up into the cobwebbed eaves of the porch roof, and gave one of the square support columns a sturdy pat. "Place has been through a lot, but it might be there's a thing or two I can do around here to help out."

"Aye, I'm sure you think so," Kelley said, unconvinced. The truck was between them, a great deal of yard, and the steps besides, but Cain couldn't help but feel the distance was not enough. While it wasn't in him to give one whit about the opinions of others, he sure as hell hadn't come all this way to antagonize DG's precarious existence here. So he let it be – for the time being, at least.

It was a few very long and uncomfortable minutes spent idly walking the length of the porch while Kelley watched like a particularly old and crotchety guard dog, and it was nowhere near soon enough when DG came out of the house, fully dressed and smiling that pinned-on smile. Cain stood quietly back as she skipped down the steps.

"You're here early, Mr. Kelley," she said as she reached the yard.

"Not here to work. Got to head in today, but Marg insisted I come check up on you." He gave his bald head a shake. "She's got it in her head that you're gonna go disappearing overnight –" And here he paused, sighed, and then added, "Again."

Cain was watching DG, and didn't miss the guilty look she shot up onto the porch. "I won't disappear."

True to his word, Kelley wasn't there to continue his work on the house, much to DG's surprise and Cain's relief. He'd only come to do as he said, to check up on the girl to make sure she hadn't run off with the much older stranger who'd shown up out of nowhere and already had tongues wagging down at the Hilltop. To her credit, DG was polite and contrite and charming, all in turns and all at the right times. She was placating the old man, no easy feat by the look of him, and she was doing it so seamlessly that Cain found himself musing on the porch that given enough time, she could probably take him in, too.

It wasn't long before Kelley was climbing back into his truck and driving away, waving at DG as he went, but he didn't seem to have a second glance to spare for Cain, which suited him just fine. He wasn't there to make impressions, he wasn't there to please. He'd come for the girl, and as odd and hollow as it made him feel, there wasn't much else he was concerned about, not just then. There were more bridges yet to cross, he knew, but they'd come in time.

Her company smile was gone when she sluggishly mounted the steps. "He acts all grumpy and put out," she said, "but he's retired and he's bored out of his mind." She leaned back against the support beam he'd been studying earlier, and offered him a smile. "He and his wife have been a really big help since I came back –"

"But they don't know."

She shook her head. "They've got enough respect for Emily and Hank to leave it be, but it's not easy for them," she said, and a smile appeared again. "I just repeat some of Pop's stories most of the time, but Mrs. Kelley knows I'm not telling them everything."

"How'd you manage to explain away droppin' out of the sky?"

"I told them I hitch-hiked," she said, and sighed. "No one saw me come in on the bus, and I don't have a vehicle, and those are the only ways in and out of town, except for your own two feet. The storm put me in a field just a little ways that-a-way." She pointed north. "I was scared I would come in and find out it had sold and someone would be living here. I never thought I'd be coming back to a house without a roof. No electricity, no running water."

She grew silent then, and her eyes took on that faraway look that so often came upon her when memory consumed her. He tried to imagine it himself, the confusion after the storm, the darkness in the house, the emptiness and the echo as she'd moved from one overturned room to the next, stumbling over her memories of the night the Longcoats had come to force her away from everything she'd ever known.

He sighed. He knew a thing or two of walking across familiar ground littered with the shattered remnants of life and home. He'd overcome his memories, his past, and had built anew – or had begun, at least, until the day he'd been called out of his yard onto a road that had ultimately led beyond the edge of his world to a farmstead on a lonely highway and a girl with a ghost or two on her tail. And he knew that of all the things in the world she might want, to be left here with her ghosts and her guilt was the last thing she needed. Experience had taught him that well.

But when had she ever listened to him?

Instead of giving her words and their weight, he gave her the comfort of his presence as he'd done on all those nights now forever behind them. Simpler times, to be certain, even for all the threats looming over their heads then, the unanswered questions burdening them to silence. It would never be that simple again, but here on the Other Side, they had nothing but time to muck through all their complications.

She looked up at him hopefully when he walked over, and leaned into him when his arm went about her shoulders. Not a tremble to her, not a sigh, just contentment and affection and peace.

"Will you help me?" she asked. "With the house, I mean."

"'Course I will."

_And when we're done, darlin', _he added silently, _we're going home._

"Thank you," she said, and her skinny arms curled around his neck. "I'm so glad you're here."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Only one more chapter, my lovelies. Two years! Hell of a trip. Still, time for something new... and don't worry, it's something Tin Man. I don't think I could leave these two alone if I tried. Another Florence inspired chapter title because, really, I don't listen to anything else these days. Thanks for reading!


	40. Of Cowards and Traitors

**Author's Note: **This chapter contains material that is rated **M**, **NSFW**, or my personal favourite, **NNA**.

**Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run  
**

* * *

_When Last We Met: Trapped on the Other Side on the guilt-ridden whims of his princess, Cain has made DG a promise: to fix up the house of her childhood, damage done by the storm that had ripped her from that life almost an annual before. But what is to happen after the work is finished, Cain has yet to find out - _**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Forty: Of Cowards and Traitors**

Cain was growing impatient.

Near a week had passed since he'd arrived, and he'd been kept busy helping the old man fix up the farmhouse while DG fretted about with nothing but platitudes and indecision to give him. Each night she shared his bed, chaste and innocent once more and stiff against him as the turnings of her mind kept her awake into the wee hours of morning.

She went to work tired and unsmiling, and returned the same way.

His determination to return her to the O.Z. didn't faze or falter. Home was where she – where _they –_ belonged, and no matter how she might be attached to the farmhouse, the town, the diner, it wasn't home to her, and she knew it. The people therein, those she loved, knew her by nothing but a lie, and she was fine to live it, still willing to give up everything to repay her mother, he supposed, for the life she'd given twice, once with birth and once with Light.

And still, _still_ they avoided, they danced, out of rhythm and out of reach, but by the gods, they _tried_.

The days began to take on a familiar pattern, always tempered with a bumbling hesitance that spoke true of their intention with each other. Love, as they had so declared – after their own fashion, to be sure – the heavy words had taken their toll, stealing the unspoken and leaving only deeds, uncertain as they were. She beamed each day to see the work done to her childhood home, the new windows, the mended roof, the fresh paint. When they were alone, she was free with her affection, with every kiss and embrace. The looks she gave him at times, so full of longing that it was all he could do to stop from taking her to bed again.

All of it left him wanting, and he could not even for a moment guess as to the reason. And so he watched her, watched as she stood on the porch come nightfall, watched as she smiled for him more each day, watched the quiet sadness that overtook her when she didn't know he was keeping an eye on her.

She was thinking on home, he knew. They both were. It held them together then, and it kept them apart.

* * *

Cain finished the roof on a Sunday.

It had been a relentlessly sunny day. His neck and shoulders ached, his knees were cursing him with every other step, but it felt good to be finished. Kelley had quit for the day hours beforehand, the sun too much for him, but determination had seen Wyatt through. The brand spanking new grey shingles would be the first thing the girl saw as she came up the drive, and it was with that thought that he went inside to shower.

Over the sound of the water beating down on his shoulders, he didn't hear her come into the house. It wasn't until his shower was finished, when he was dressed and dry that he noticed the truck parked crookedly in the yard.

Room by room, he went on a search for her. Her work shoes were on the porch, dingy laces and faded red canvas. Her bag was on the kitchen table, contents spilled every which way. She wasn't in the living room, nor was she in the back bedroom they had been sharing.

It was the creak of floorboards above his head gave her away. He walked the length of the front hall, thick with the gloom of late afternoon. His own footsteps were cushioned by the ugly old runner rug that covered the floor. With one hand on the wooden railing, he leaned in and glanced up the stairs.

The door at the top of the stairs was open.

To his credit, it did cross his mind to give her the time and privacy she needed. She often wandered up there, and he'd never followed. It seemed to be her space, and he was hesitant to encroach upon it. But bothered by thoughts of the newly-shingled roof over her head, the tightness in his shoulders, the impatience that had rooted itself so gods-damned deep in him...

Slowly and with heavy footfalls, Cain mounted the stairs. One flight, and then a second, up into the open attic where DG sat cross-legged on a narrow, metal-framed bed, still in her gingham-skirted uniform and pigtails. She looked up at him as he came up through the floor to stand – just barely – at the top of the steps.

She smiled. "I was wondering when you'd work up the courage to come up here."

"You're back early," he said, finding to his displeasure that the low eaves and closed quarters made him feel very, very uneasy.

Cain looked around, briefly. The fresh boards that made up the roof were raw, the bright colour of new wood, and in need of a good sanding. It was a stark contrast to the walls, rough planks, scuffed and peeling. Tacked and taped to the walls on almost every available vertical space were photographs, rough sketches, watercolours, landscapesand portraits. It warmed the heart to see the talent she possessed in those nimble hands of hers.

DG patted the worn coverlet beside her, inviting him to sit. The springs gave an antiquated creak beneath his weight.

"Sundays are always slow once the brunch rush is over," she said, giving him another feeble smile, but it was honest at the very least and he was glad for it. But it didn't distract him from her graceful change of subject. "I can't believe you finished the roof."

"Like it, do you?"

"Very much," she said, stretching up to place her chin on his shoulder. "What did Mr. Kelley have to say about it?"

"Grumbled all the while the paper was crooked," Cain said, smirking and looking down at his red, calloused hands. "Used too few nails, and can't swing a hammer worth a damn. Doubt he got anything done today with how close he was watchin' me."

"So you figured you'd get it all done before he came back?" she asked. Her chin dug a little deeper into his shoulder as her smile widened.

"Something like that," he muttered, and then turned abruptly on her when she made to speak again. "Don't go thanking me just yet, Deege. Time enough for that once the job's finished."

Looking into his eyes, the resolution he hoped she saw there, she lost her smile. "But, Cain –"

"No 'buts', and I mean it."

It took a moment, but she agreed with a nod, her mouth twisting unhappily. She'd asked for his help, and he knew it was difficult for her to just stand back and let him do what needed to be done without getting into the middle of things to help herself. Kelley's well-meant grousing never seemed to bother her. On the days when she wasn't at the diner, she'd scraped and painted, weeded and mowed, cleaned and polished until the new windows shone and winked in the sunlight. She'd endured her fair share of dust, bites, blisters, and splinters.

If the past days on this side had made one thing clear to Cain, it was that DG _could_ belong here. There was a place for her, carved out over the annuals she'd grown from girlhood, friends who cared for her, a family made by bond and not by blood. Independent, capable, and stubborn, she could have made it just fine here on her own.

But life's got a way of happening regardless of what we think is meant to be or not. His appearance had tossed a wrench into the intricate workings of her mechanical living. He'd made her feel again, shown her the difference between living and just _being_, and from that she was still recovering. It was hard for him to push her, the guilt drove him near mad during nights when she lay in his arms, quiet and curled inward on herself.

Still, he had to. He had to push, or he'd never get them home.

"Why do you come hiding up here?" he asked, gently as he was able.

"Habit," she said, picking at loose threads on the coverlet.

"Hope I'm not the one giving you cause to hide."

She shook her head, but did not elaborate further.

Sighing, he stood, accompanied again by the sound of old springs. He turned his back on her only because the sight of her sadness was too much to bear without action or interference. Instead, he walked the length of the room, skirting the bed and ducking his head under the slanted roof. While working on the roof these past two days, he'd glanced inside once or twice through the gabled dormer window, but to be inside her small, private space was another thing altogether.

There were so many drawings lining the walls. It seemed she'd done little else with her free time but draw.

Most all that he saw were rough sketches, done with the thick, heavy leads she favoured, which she would shade and smudge until her fingertips turned black. The image of her wasn't hard to conjure, he'd seen her at it a hundred times over. He expected to see her mother featured prominent in her work as she'd done before when they'd journeyed south, but he saw nothing of Lavender there on those attic walls. He only saw himself, their friends, and everywhere, always, skeletal sketches of the ruins where she'd last had her feet on home soil, damaged by sand, sun, and the passing of the ages. Broken walls, tall lancet windows, the upper balcony lined with doors, rooms overflowing with crumbled debris and rusted ironwork. All of it was there, represented in one form another, whether subject or only the backdrop to one hunched figure or another.

Every now and again, his eyes would skim over a painting or drawing done in full colour, and he'd skip back to it, back to the splash of vibrancy amid the dark, thorny pencil lines. He remembered those colours, those lifeless portrait gazes. It shouldn't have surprised him to see the great figures done over once more in DG's own hand, but it left a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach to see those haunted faces again.

As he walked the room, he found them all. The old woman wreathed in a lavender glow; the wasted woman with the axe, raising it up to a blazing blue sky; the one-eyed crone with her singular, golden gaze; and Glinneth herself in all her fiery red glory. And even – yes, pinned near the head of the bed, the little girl on her emerald throne. DG had drawn red slippers on her feet. Why _red, _he couldn't fathom a guess. In every tale he'd ever heard told, the shoes had been silver.

"Darlin'," he began, wanting to know, but she turned on the bed, shifting onto her knees to look him square in the eyes.

"I wanted to tell you a story," she said. His mouth snapped shut, certain she meant to elaborate upon her sudden declaration, but all she had for him after that bluster was a shrug of her shoulders. When he raised an eyebrow in question, she turned defensive. "I came up here to try get it all straight in my head."

"And what'd you come up with?"

She sighed, mouth crooked. "I think I was meant to come back here, Cain, right from the beginning. It's how the story ended, isn't it? After it's all said and done, the witch in the south sends the little girl home."

"That's true enough," he conceded. He remembered telling her just that, once or twice upon a time. It was how Lavender had seen the story play out in her dreaming, and she'd warned him, _tried_ to warn him. "You didn't wish for this, DG."

"Means to an end," she said dismissively. "Only it's not the end, is it? So if it's not the end then what happens next?"

At the sight of her smile, he took a step closer to the bed, and her reaching hands came to rest on his arms as he put them around her. It was a comfort to them both, the steady presence of the other that drew them in and kept them there.

"I guess that's up to her now, isn't it?" he said, raising his hand to give a tug on one of her pigtails.

He tilted his head down, a natural progression, to shadow her face as that smile faded into a bitten lip. He kissed her as her eyes slipped closed. She responded immediately, eagerly, pushing up on her knees, taking over with a daring tongue and searching hands. He recognised it then, still mindful of that boldness of spirit that had betrayed her naiveté the first time she'd given herself over to him.

Now – well, now was no different. Her warm mouth with its wicked smirk as she pulled him down to the bed on top of her, the roll of her hips pinned beneath his, these sweet tells wove a far more experienced tale than the trembling of her hands as she fixated on the buttons of his shirt, the flush that filled her cheeks as his hand slid down her backside and up beneath her dress. The old frame groaned under them, the springs unaccustomed to such rough treatment. The rusty noise cut straight through him.

"We shouldn't be doing this again," he said, futile words, empty, they both knew. His fingers found the cotton edge of her underwear, and he played with it between thumb and forefinger, going no further.

"I don't care," was her response, whispered against his collarbone as she nuzzled his neck. She pressed her hips up, teasing him; the breathy moan that slipped past her parted lips was a far greater torture, and it was too easy to lean down, to kiss her and pull her next breath into him, to taste the soft laugh that came with it.

"I'm beginning to think seduction wasn't a huge part of your plan," she said, her head falling back to the mattress.

Despite himself, he chuckled, giving her thigh a gentle squeeze. "Didn't factor too greatly, no."

"And now?" she asked, her words all patience but her wriggling was saying something else entirely.

"Rethinking things," he said, and he meant it. He'd come to accept over the past week that there'd be no fitting the pieces of their separate lives back to where they'd been when – when, _if –_ they made it home. Were he given a choice, he wouldn't leave her side again upon their return. In his mind, whatever deeds needed doing to keep it that way were just platitudes and paperwork.

"But you still want to go home," she said, and the sadness wasn't there, that weighty melancholy that he'd come to expect from her when she'd start musing on such things as home and family.

"Not without you, darlin'." He sighed, stroking her breast with a heavy hand. Her eyelids fluttered.

"You'd stay here with me," she said, and the corners of her mouth trembled, as if wanting to turn up to a smile if she could just dare to. He leaned down and kissed her, guilty as ever for his part in what made her slow to dare and dream, missing his girl who had been quick to act and damn the consequences.

"I'll stay with you," he said, and there was that smile of hers, ready to steal his breath away. "Wherever you decide we need to be." The reassurance tasted stale as he said it, but he said it all the same. Retreading the same old ground, making the same old promises.

She reached up to trace gentle fingers along his jaw, and he fought to keep still, so unused to this even now, the sentimentality, the softness of her love. Everything she was, everything she gave of herself, of this she showed so little, and she showed it only to him. Her trust should have honoured him, it should have humbled him. What he felt staring down into those sky eyes, he couldn't rightly say, not then and not there, in the eaves of a farmhouse in a world so far-placed from their own, surrounded by ghosts set to paper by a grieving hand.

He just knew he loved her, and damn the rest. For saving him, for letting him run and not branding him a traitor, for waiting on his cowardly heart.

Cain kissed her soundly then, twice for good measure, overcome with nothing so crass as want or need, but consumed by something deeper, far greater than himself, and so willing was her response beneath him, the curl of her fingers and the heat of her tongue, that he found himself floundering for a reason why it shouldn't be. The rest of him heartily agreed, and was quick to betray him, remembering the warmth of her body with a fondness that lent itself wholly to impropriety.

His fall went as fast as it had their first time, with nothing to remember it by except the frantic unbuttonings and glimpses of bare flesh. Clothed, crazed, craving, he took her in that dim, dusty attic while the bed beneath them groaned its dismay. She accepted his weight between her legs, her eyes widening as he pressed into her, then closing once more as he worked himself within her, and his big hands on her slender waist were full of blue gingham. If he caused her pain, she gave no sign, but still he watched for it even through the dumbstruck haze clouding his mind as she lifted her hips to his again, and again until the watching became excruciating and he let his head hang.

Release mounted in him, too quick and anything but quiet; he cried out as his climax came, the ache still there, and he was reduced to whimpering as he rode out each wave, sense drowned out by the rush of his blood and breathing. And when it was done, he laid his sweaty brow upon her aproned breast and listened to the pounding of her heart.

_Wherever she decided_, he had promised. Truly, what did it matter, so long as he could stay right where he was.

* * *

Cain awoke to the shadows dancing across the slanted ceiling. His first conscious thought was that he was alone; there was too much space on the narrow bed for it to be otherwise. He shifted and the bedsprings gave a quiet creak, echoing the one he felt spread silently through his bones as he moved. Sitting was an eventual thing, and he was even slower to stand. He could feel the lead-darkened eyes of DG's pictures looking down on him. He didn't dare raise his own to meet them.

In a reversal of the day's path, he went down the stairs to look for his princess, searching room through room and finding only small traces of her, dirty clothes on the floor, damp towel hung to dry, a light or two left on. Her bag was gone from the table, as were her keys. A glance out the back door confirmed with his eyes what his heart had already told him. The driveway was empty, and there was no knowing how long she'd been gone.

The dark, lonely old house was no comfort to him, and he moved through it uneasily. He went about cleaning himself up, changing out of his rumpled, sweaty shirt. He was slow, wanting to give her time to return before he could no longer avoid missing her or worrying over her, but there was only so much could be done before his mind settled once and for all on where the hell she'd got to.

Restless feet took him to the porch, and the cool night air kept him there. A breeze had picked up, a welcome respite from the heat of the afternoon, a memory that still radiated from his aching, sunburned shoulders. He sat down in an uncomfortable dusty cane chair to wait, watching as every now and again sets of headlights blurred by in the black distance.

An hour or more passed before a set of dimmed lights finally turned down the drive, and Cain heard the familiar rattle of an old and faithful suspension. She pulled to a stop and cut the engine, climbing out with nary a suspicion that he sat on the darkened porch waiting for her.

The gate creaked softly as she opened it, followed by the crackling of parched prairie grass as she crossed the yard, then came the sound of her feet on the steps. It wasn't so black outside just yet that he couldn't make out her silhouette against the night, but all else was lost to shadow.

She didn't go straight into the house; he hadn't expected her to. She stood on the porch staring out into the dark just as she had most every other night since he'd come, and probably for every night since her own crossing over, as well. Her arm wrapped firm around a support post, head leant against it, embracing or hanging on or just plain tired, he couldn't begin to guess, nor could he know just how long he sat and watched her as he'd always watched her.

"Somewhere," he heard her whisper.

Grudgingly, he spoke up before she became any more lost to him. "Deege." It was all he could manage.

Her head snapped round, but she hampered whatever cry or shout had started to grow in her throat. What was left, what came out, was choked and meagre. "How long have –"

"A bit," he cut in. "Didn't hear you go. You sure are getting quiet."

She stepped a bit closer until she stood before him and her knees brushed against his. "I'm no quieter than I was the first time you caught me sneaking out," she said, and he smiled at the memory of wisps of shadow and trainers on pavement. "You are sleeping heavier, though. That helps." She gave no resistance when he pulled her down into his lap.

"You're wearin' me out, kiddo."

"Hardly," she said, laughing.

"You gonna tell me where you went off to?"

She nodded against his temple, looping an arm around his neck. "I went into town. Carter was less than thrilled to see me on his doorstep."

Carter, the boss with the quick temper, whose concern for DG had seemed nothing but genuine, though his general dislike of her was also entirely the same.

"Something that couldn't wait until morning?" Cain asked, his own interest a little less selfless.

"I thought I'd waited long enough to give my notice."

And there it was. It sunk in slow, and sweet. "You're sure, darlin'?"

She nodded again, her hair tickling his jaw. "The storm's come and gone. I want to go home. I'm so _tired. _Besides, you know what they say."

He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her in a little tighter. "What changed your mind?"

"You did. What else?"

He kissed her temple, and said nothing.

"Mother shouldn't have made me leave, not if it was going to lead here no matter what I did," she said, soft as can be, and he couldn't be entirely sure she was speaking directly to him. Musing to herself as it were, words said aloud only for the sake of conviction. "I don't want to think about what will happen when I get there. I don't want to worry about any of it. I just want to go home, and after everything, that shouldn't be too much to ask."

_Sometimes it is, darlin', _he thought, but kept such woes to himself. _Sometimes a home waiting for you at the end of the long road is just too damn much to hope for. _

It wouldn't be that way for her, and it wouldn't be that way for him any more, either. Not if he had his say.

But by then his silence had gone on too long, and she wasn't about to let that happen. "Will you stay with me?" she asked, a firm and direct question she already knew the answer to. She pushed up a bit on his shoulder to better see his face, though in the darkness he was sure it proved difficult all the same. Perhaps it was easier that way, for her at least. For him, he didn't know.

"'Course I will," he said, and pulled her in to kiss him.

The girl had a point; she couldn't say what would happen to them when they returned, but just then, such details were unimportant. Love, hope, resolve, they had these things in abundance, and it would see them through. It felt good to know the truth inside, to hold it in his heart, for what he'd told her, he'd told her true. It strengthened him, eased his worries and guided his steps, this truth, this promise of love and home.

After the black, after the storm, between and beyond what had happened and where they'd been, the time had finally come; their running days were done.

* * *

**The End**

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**More Words:  
**Thank you to, well, everyone ever, but specifically those that read, those that favourited, followed, and reviewed. Eternal love to reviewers who keep me on track and encourage me. To all the good friends I've made in this fandom and others.

I'm a little sad that after two years, no one recognized or pointed out where I'd gotten the title from.

I promised myself that I wouldn't even start outlining my next piece until this was done. Well, let the plotting begin. Already got my bunny all picked out. Don't be freaked out if you see a few Dragon Age updates from me before you see a new Tin Man one.

See you down the road, my pretties. ;)


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